Lost & Found
by Brummie10
Summary: While a member of the BAU fights for life, a lost colleague needs help in catching a serial killer. With emotions running high, can the team focus enough to solve the case and be with their fallen member before it is too late? 2-in-1, enjoy & review pls
1. Chapter 1

_**Lost & Found**_

_By: Brummie10_

_First few chapters are short and sweet. Hope they grab your attention. Please leave a comment; my first case fic so happy for all reviews. Thanks! _

_**Acknowledgements:**_

_To Nexis for her initial idea and encouragement, to B, for her suggestions and editing, and to my SIH Vali for her expertise in all matters FBI and creepy Unsub related. Thanks ladies! _

_Once again, to TG & AW for bringing a fictional character to life in such as way as to inspire creation of more stories for him _

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

**Lost & Found**

"_**To understand any living thing, you must creep within**_**  
**_**and feel the beating of its heart."**_

**W. Macneile Dixon**

**Prologue**

**COOTES STORE, VA.**

He watched from a distance through high-powered binoculars. He had come too far to take chances now. Everything needed to be perfect. Everything would be perfect. He knew that, and yet he wanted one last period of observation. It gave him satisfaction. He smirked. Soon. Soon he could put his plan into action. It had been years in the making. He had had to have been patient. Sometimes it had been difficult. But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was the result. It would make all the waiting worthwhile. What had been lost would be found again. He would show them. No. He would show HIM! Lowering the binoculars, he retreated from his hiding place.

Soon.

*******

**Chapter 1**

**DENVER, CO.**

It was a cold and blustery day in Denver, even for springtime. At Denver International Airport, SSA Aaron Hotchner shook hands with Detective Gregory O'Neil and pulled his 'go bag' from the back of the squad car. He turned up the collar of his coat as an icy draught tried to find its way down his neck. The Detective hunched his shoulders; he had to shout in order to be heard above the wind.

"Thanks for coming, Aaron. It was good to see you again. As ever, your lectures were really informative and will prove very useful. I hope that we can get you back again for the conference next year?"

Hotch handed him a business card.

"I was glad to help, Greg. Feel free to call me directly and we'll see if we can set something up."

Another gust of arctic air hit the two men. O'Neil shook his head in frustration and shrugged as if to apologize for the weather in his city. Pocketing the business card, he waved and got back into the car while Hotch made a bee-line for the entranceway.

Unsurprisingly, all flights out of the airport were delayed. The sky looked very threatening now that dark black clouds had rolled in. Hotch sighed and took out his cell phone to call JJ, the BAU's team liaison. He had been gone for 4 days and wanted an update as well as to alert them that he didn't know when he would be back. According to JJ, the team were all working on separate files, doing phone consultations and catching up on paperwork.

"Sounds like you've had more excitement, Hotch." said JJ. "Everything go alright?"

"Fine, thanks. The delegates seemed fairly open-minded; Greg will let me know once he's received more feedback."

"I'm sure you scored straight A's... no one knows negotiation techniques like you do."

"Thanks." mumbled Hotch. He had never been very good at taking complements. "Ok JJ, I'd better let you go. Please tell Dave I'll phone him from the plane before we take off, whenever that may be."

"Yes sir."

***

Six hours later and Flight83 was getting ready to take advantage of an alleged break in the weather. Hotch stowed his briefcase and suit jacket in the bin above his head, intending on using the four hours to get some sleep. He buckled his seatbelt and took out his cell phone. As he waited for Rossi to answer, his attention was drawn to the window where sleet was now pummelling the small Bombardier Challenger850. He frowned slightly.

'_Looks like it will be a bumpy ride.' _he thought to himself. _'So much for a nap.'_

"Hi Hotch." Rossi's deep voice sounded faint.

"Hey Dave, I can barely hear you. The weather is obviously affecting the connection so I'll keep it short. I just wanted to let you know that we've boarded. I should be back in the office sometime tomorrow."

"Ok Aaron. No rush, not much going..."

The rest of his sentence was lost in a barrage of static. Hotch gave up and ended the call, turning off the phone and slipping it into the seat pocket in front of him. He loosened his tie and stared wearily out of the window while awaiting departure.

As Hotch had expected, the take off was fairly bumpy and even when the plane had reached its cruising altitude and levelled off, the seatbelt sign remained illuminated. However, the agent was accustomed to rough rides, the BAU's small jet being more susceptible to turbulence, so had soon dozed off to the drone of the engines.

He was jerked awake some time later when the plane suddenly dropped in altitude. The flight was only half full, about twenty passengers, and all were casting nervous looks at each other. The crew took their seats as the seatbelt sign came back on and the co-pilot's voice came over the audio system,

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you've noticed, we've hit a patch of bad weather. Unfortunately, the word from flights ahead of us is that it isn't much better at higher or lower altitudes, so we're just going to have to ride it out... Sorry folks. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts securely fastened until we can find some calmer air."

The cabin was silent. Hotch looked out the window but saw nothing but darkness and rain splatters... or was it snow? He couldn't tell. He glanced around at his fellow travelling companions, wondering who would be the first to panic. At times like this, the Unit Chief almost wished he weren't a profiler.

Another very large and abrupt drop caused the agent to frown and grip the hand-rests of his seat. There was a collective gasp from the other passengers as the plane attempted to regain altitude. It was rocking noticeably from side-to-side and even Hotch began to feel the first traces of unease.

'_Come on, right this thing.'_

The pattern continued for a number of minutes. The plane would fall, the pilots would right it again only to hit another pocket of turbulence. Hotch could feel the aircraft lurching and it was getting worse. He made note of his nearest emergency exits, leaned his head back against his chair and shut his eyes. He tried to think of Jack, recalling his son's laughter and big blue eyes.

'_I have to get home to my son...'_

All of a sudden, there was yet another drop, but this time the pilots had no answer; the aircraft was unresponsive and began to plunge towards the ground. Oxygen masks dropped from the overhead compartments as the plane continued to lose altitude rapidly. Hotch yanked his mask downwards and put it over his face as the co-pilot's alarmed voice entered the cabin once more:

"Everyone, brace for impact! I repeat, brace for impact!"

The passengers, almost as one entity, moved to assume the brace position. But people were quickly passing out; the oxygen coming through the masks couldn't keep up with the speed of altitude change. Hotch just managed to tuck his head between his arms before he too lost consciousness.

***


	2. Chapter 2

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 2**

**CRASH SITE**

Hotch moaned as he partially regained consciousness. His head felt as though someone were taking a sledgehammer to it. Groggily, he tried to sit up but a wave of pain and nausea swept over him and he closed his eyes. However, as his other senses became more acute they warned him to wake up; he struggled to focus.

Hotch could smell smoke. He opened his eyes. He was still strapped into his seat, but the seat was no longer bolted to the floor and he was no longer upright. With bloodied and shaky hands, he unclasped the seatbelt buckle and freed himself, rolling with a grunt onto his side. With trained eyes, he surveyed his surroundings. What remained of the aircraft's cabin was a jungle of twisted metal. The agent could see the bodies of other passengers scattered amongst the wreckage. None were moving and there was an eerie stillness.

Once again, Hotch closed his eyes. It was so tempting to simply lie down and return to darkness. Then an image of Jack came into his mind and he fought to stay alert. Re-opening his eyes, his gaze fell upon a small fire towards what he thought had been the front of the cabin.

'_I've got to get out of here before that hits the fuel tanks.'_

He tried to get to his feet but was foiled by excruciating pain in his head and in one leg. Gasping and writhing in agony, Hotch fell to his knees. He began to crawl away from the fire, one painful motion at a time.

As he made his way towards the back of the cabin, the agent caught sight of a door off its hinges. It lay haphazardly across what was once an exit, still blocking it. But it was a way out. Hotch's determination renewed, his adrenaline kicked in and he crawled faster. His head felt as though it was about to explode but he kept going. Just as he reached the door, he heard a soft moan. Turning his head towards the noise, he saw an arm sticking out from underneath a pile of seats and luggage. It moved slightly.

Hotch pulled at the wreckage. A woman's face looked up at him when he removed the last of the obstacles.

"Please... Please help..."

"Can you move?" asked Hotch.

The woman's clothing was in tatters and her exposed skin covered in blood and lacerations. He figured he probably looked similar. He knew with certainty that he was badly injured, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

"A little..." the woman was saying.

"Here, give me your hand. We have a way out but I'll need your help."

The woman nodded and extended her hand towards him. Hotch took hold of it and helped her into a sitting position. She bit her lip in pain, but did not cry out. Together, they tried to shift the door. It wouldn't budge. After the second attempt, they both fell back to the floor, panting in exhaustion. Hotch looked for an alternative exit, but could see nothing. Heavy smoke now filled the cabin, attacking the survivors' noses and eyes. It was now or never if they were to get out alive.

With one final supreme effort, Hotch laid his shoulder against the door and pushed with every bit of strength he had left. It yielded at last. Coughing, he looked out and realized that they were lucky again. The wing on this particular side had been severed so that the main body of the plane had come to rest tilted in this direction. It meant that there was virtually no drop from the door to the ground.

'_The pilots are heroes... none of us should have survived.'_ thought Hotch as he crawled through the doorway into the night and fresh air.

The female passenger followed and eventually they were clear of the wreckage. The woman lay holding her stomach with her eyes closed while Hotch assessed the situation. It was almost pitch black. The only light came from a sliver of the moon as it poked through more foreboding clouds. It wasn't raining or snowing, but it would be shortly. Hotch knew that he was fading fast, as was his companion. Peering through the darkness, he could just about make out the vague outline of mountains on all sides. His heart dropped. It would be very difficult for rescuers to see the crash site from the air, let alone reach it. They needed to try to find help on their own. But what direction should they take? Hotch cursed the weather and the lack of stars to guide them.

Unexpectedly, he was hit with another burst of pain emanating from his left temple. He rolled over onto his side and vomited violently, groaning in agony. His ear was ringing now and it was all he could do to stay conscious.

'_Must hurry...'_

And with this sole objective, he selected a direction and, half-pulling the injured woman behind him, gritted his teeth and began to crawl once more.

***

Hank and Irene Patterson had had a good evening, visiting friends on a near-by farm. They had almost cancelled after hearing reports of a possible tornado but Hank pointed out they had survived just fine living in Kansas for 60-plus years and he wasn't about to miss out on Penny's homemade pie. Now they were driving home in their pick-up truck in comfortable silence. To their knowledge, there had been no tornado, but it was still extremely windy and was threatening to rain.

Hank was 78years old, going on 40. He had the thick, tanned skin of a man who had spent many hours labouring outdoors, his muscles still bulging under his flannel shirt. Although retired, he took great pride in maintaining a small portion of his farmland; he said it kept his mind and body young.

Hank glanced lovingly at his wife of 55years. She dozed, her head resting against the window. Like her husband, Irene still managed to hang onto some semblance of her youth. Her thin, fit figure seemed in contrast to her grey hair and wrinkled face. Hank patted her hand, thinking she was as beautiful today as the day he proposed.

A local, Hank loved this area with its flat farmland nestled in amongst the nearby Smoky Hills. As he drove, his small, green eyes surveyed the road in front of him. Hank knew every corner, every pothole of this stretch of highway but he kept alert, squinting into the darkness. Irene always said he had eyes like a hawk. And so it was that he spotted two dark forms on the side of the road when many others would simply have driven past them. At first he thought they were deer, struck by a vehicle and left to die. But as he got nearer and pulled the truck off the road, he realized with a start that they were human.

"Irene! Irene, wake up!"

Hank pulled a flashlight from the glove compartment.

"I think those folks are hurt! See if you can get any reception to call for help, I'll go investigate."

His wife was instantly awake and began rummaging through her purse for their cell phone.

"Be careful honey, it could be hitchhikers wanting to hijack our truck."

Hank thought she spoke sense, so he approached the two figures with caution. It was a man and a woman and neither was moving. When he was within a couple of feet, he shone the flashlight on them and called out,

"Hello? Do you need some help?"

There was no reply and as soon as the beam of the flashlight fell upon the man, the reason for the silence became obvious. The prone figure was tall with dark hair which was currently caked with blood. What remained of a dress shirt and trousers were torn and he was covered in dirt and grime. More blood oozed from numerous cuts and deeper wounds all over his face and the rest of his body. One hand lay protectively on the person next to him.

"Sweet Jesus..." breathed Hank.

He shone the light over the woman; it revealed a similar picture. Hank lent over her checking for a pulse. Finding nothing, he moved back over to the man expecting the same result. But he was pleasantly surprised by a faint thud underneath his fingertips.

"Irene!" he shouted.

His wife scrambled out of the truck, a blanket in one hand and the phone still to her ear.

"They want to know where we are." she said handing the cell to her husband. "Are they alive?"

Hank jerked his head in the direction of the male as he barked directions to the emergency dispatcher. Hanging up, he helped Irene to cover the injured man with the blanket and the couple crouched down to keep watch over him.

"It doesn't look good, does it Hank?"

It was more of a statement than a question.

Hank shook his head sadly.

"Bad head wound, lots of blood... poor fella... looks like he used the last of his strength trying to save his wife."

They sat in depressed silence as the sound of sirens emanated from the distance.

***


	3. Chapter 3

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

_A short update but more soon! Please review. :)  
_

***

**Chapter 3**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

The helicopter hovered briefly before touching down on the hospital's helipad. A trauma team rushed to the chopper as a paramedic jumped out, an IV bag in his hand.

"John Doe, found unconscious along with his wife by the side of a country road in the Smoky Hills. No ID."

"Let's get him straight to the OR." ordered the chief trauma surgeon Dr. Matthew Burnstein. "We've got a portable CT scanner in there already. Vitals?"

"Bp 100 over 60, heart rate about 160. He started going downhill in just the last few minutes. We've prepped him as best we can for surgery but it was a bumpy ride. We're lucky we even got airborne."

They lifted out the board carrying the patient, placed it on a waiting gurney and hurried back inside.

"I'm going to need a CBC, head, chest and abdominal CT scans, stat! Anything else will just have to wait. Right, let's get him onto the table... one, two, three, lift!"

The doctor ran an experienced eye over the unclothed patient. He looked past the more superficial cuts and contusions, focussing on potentially fatal wounds. He could see some deformation in the man's lower right leg. He also had severe bruising over the right side of his abdomen and was struggling to breathe in spite of the intubation. Dr. Burnstein held open the patient's eyelids while he briefly shone his penlight into each one in turn.

"He's unresponsive to light; definite head injury. Hurry up with that scanner!"

He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to heart, lungs and the lower torso. At the site of the bruising, he could hear a slight gurgling noise.

"He's bleeding into the abdominal cavity. Page Dr. Nichols, I'm going to need assistance."

***

Ten hours later and Dr. Burnstein ran a weary hand through his hair as he threw away his operating cap and mask. His colleague, Dr. Nichols, was leaning against a locker, too exhausted to do anything else.

"I've never seen anything like that..." said the latter, younger surgeon.

"No." agreed Matthew. "At least, not in a live human being."

"Do you think he'll make it?"

Dr. Burnstein sighed and shrugged.

"The next 12-24hrs will give us some indication. If we've been successful in stopping all the haemorrhaging and we can get his blood volume back up without him crashing again, then maybe..."

The man had sustained a catalogue of injuries. Superficially, his entire body was covered in deep lacerations and bruises. He had numerous broken bones, including several ribs and the tibia of his right leg. His left wrist was fractured. Internally, Dr. Nichols had had to remove the spleen and repair damage to the abdominal wall in order to stop some severe bleeding. Miraculously, his heart and lungs escaped direct injury although they were under strain. His heart had stopped once during surgery, requiring defibrillation and he remained in further danger of shock.

But by far the most serious injury was to the head. The man had fractured the left side of his skull and his brain had swollen in response. Dr. Burnstein had been forced to drill a small hole to allow space for it to expand. Currently, John Doe lay in a coma in extremely critical condition, fighting for his life.

"Let's just hope the police can find some family before it's too late. It is truly a miracle he has made it this far."

***


	4. Chapter 4

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter ****4**

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

To the members of the behavioural analysis unit, this day started like any other, with no hint to the horror that lay ahead. JJ and Emily chatted in the make-shift kitchen while waiting for the first pot of morning coffee to brew. Morgan had disappeared, presumably to visit Garcia and sweet talk her into helping him to finish off some last research for one of his consult cases. Reid was already hard at it, nose buried in a thick volume of 'the Annual Proceedings of the Psychiatric Society'. Rossi was in his office, making sure all of the files of the team's last few days were in order to give to Hotch for final approval.

'_The last thing Hotch is going to want to do is sift through this pile while he's battling jet lag.' _

Finally finishing the paperwork, Dave glanced at his watch. The morning had passed quickly, it was almost noon. Rossi frowned. Aaron's plane should have landed hours ago. And as tired as the Unit Chief would no doubt be, it was very odd that he wouldn't have at least phoned to check in. Dave picked up his own phone and dialled Hotch's cell. It seemed switched off. Tapping his fingers on the desk, Rossi thought for a few moments. Something wasn't right, his instincts kept telling him. Yet he would feel foolish showing up on his friend's doorstep and waking him up because he didn't 'feel right'. The older agent sighed and tried to concentrate on work. He almost jumped out of his chair when Morgan re-entered the BAU; every time the door opened, Rossi expected Hotch to walk in.

Suddenly, the door opened again and JJ, eyes wide, flew into the room and pointed a remote control at a large television screen which overhung the room. The uneasy feeling in Rossi's stomach turned to panic as he ran from his office to watch. A reporter from CNN was speaking. In the background were the remnants of a small plane, flames and smoke still billowing from the debris.

"... It is believed that Flight83 was on route from Denver International Airport to Washington Dulles in DC when it went down. Investigators are refusing to comment on the probable cause until the black boxes can be retrieved. However, tornado alerts had been given for the Smoky Hills area of Kansas and north into Nebraska. All twenty-two passengers and six crew members are believed to have perished, but of course, this is conjecture until recovery operations are complete..."

There was stunned silence as the news, with its ramifications, slowly sunk in. They all knew what flight Hotch had been booked on. Morgan, tears forming in his eyes, hugged a stunned Prentiss. Reid sat staring blankly at some non-existent object on his desk. Numbly, JJ muted the TV and turned to Rossi. Dave remained on the balcony above the bullpen, hands gripping the railing so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. He was still gazing at the TV screen.

"Sir?" JJ managed to get out as she was starting to cry.

"No." said Rossi adamantly, clenching his jaw. "No! Aaron Hotchner does not die in a plane crash. They've got it wrong. He'll have found a way to survive!"

"Rossi!" said Morgan sharply. "Did you see the wreckage?! Man, nobody could have walked away from that!"

Dave turned to face the team. They had never seen such steely determination in his face before.

"No." he repeated, softly this time. "Aaron is like a brother to me. I'd feel it if he were gone. He needs us to find him..."

There were awkward glances between the younger agents. Each wanted to believe that Rossi was correct, that there was still hope. But having seen the footage, they trusted what their eyes told them; they had lost their Unit Chief.

Rossi saw the doubtful expressions and knew they thought he was in denial. Maybe he was, but he was going to make sure that he uncovered every last stone before admitting defeat. Aaron would do no differently for him.

"JJ, I need you to book me a flight to..."

The appearance of a grim-faced Section Chief Strauss left the rest of his sentence unfinished.

"David, please gather the team in the conference room."

Rossi nodded his head in the direction his superior had gone. The team, still trying to digest the last five minutes, followed mutely.

Once everyone was seated, including Garcia, who had also heard the news and was sniffling into a Kleenex, Strauss stood up and moved to address the group.

"I'm extremely sorry to hear about Agent Hotchner... I know how close you all were to him, so this will not be an easy time. But I also think you would agree that Aaron would not want things to stop; he dedicated his life to putting criminals behind bars. It would honour his memory to continue to do that..." she paused.

"I know that you're all in shock and will be grieving. But I need to make sure the BAU continues. So as hard as the next few months will be, I'm going to have to ask you to make it work. Agent Rossi, for the time being you are Unit Chief. We will re-evaluate in six weeks. As for the rest of you, if anyone needs to take the rest of the week off, then please do. However, I expect all of you in this very room next Monday morning ready to work." And with that, the Section Chief left the team to its sorrow.

"Does anyone want to go home?" asked Rossi, looking at the team... his team. He hated the sound of those very words. Not at the expense of his best friend.

Each agent shook their head.

"Rossi, we're family. We have to go through this together." Prentiss said.

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Okay, and we will get through this together. But before I can start to grieve, I have to know for sure..."

"Rossi..." Morgan ran his hand over his bald head, agitated. "Man, just let it go."

"The odds of someone surviving a plane crash resulting in fire are about 1000/1" cited Reid helpfully.

Rossi glared at him.

"I don't care what the statistics say. And I don't care what those images on the news imply either. My gut tells me Hotch is still alive and until I see a body, I will not give up!"

The rest of the team were silent except for Garcia, who continued to weep quietly.

Dave continued.

"Look, I'm not about to touch another case this week. Strauss has given us the option of time off... I intend to use it to find Hotch. Who will help me?"

More silence. Rossi knew it was a good deal to ask. These people had just learned that their boss, their mentor, their friend, was presumed dead. But he just couldn't face that possibility yet. He waited patiently.

It was Reid who surprised him. Not only was he first to break the silence, but the man of statistics lent his support.

"I'll help you Dave. Hotch didn't give up on me... not ever. I owe him the same."

"I'm in too!" sniffed Garcia. "Just let me know how..."

"You can count on me." Prentiss said. There was a hard tone to her voice in spite of her newly bloodshot eyes.

"I'll go and see what I can find out from the local press and police in Kansas." JJ rose and left the room.

Morgan sat stiffly, looking at his hands, his head lowered.

"This is a bad idea. We need to accept facts!"

"I will, Derek... as soon as we have some." Rossi said gently. "But right now, all we know for sure is that a plane on which Hotch was a passenger has crashed. Nothing more."

Morgan looked up and stared at Rossi. "I don't agree with this... But I won't let my family down. What do you need me to do?"

***


	5. Chapter 5

_Hang in there... the chapters really will get longer soon and yes, there is actually a case! I'm just trying to put the team onto an emotional roller coaster, which should hopefully make for some interesting times ahead. Let me know if its working... ;) _

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 5**

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Agent Rossi felt somewhat better having gained the support of the team. He had never been a man to wait around and twiddle his thumbs; he needed to be doing something. Sitting back in his office, he took out his small notepad and began making a list of all the information he would need in order to mount a search for the missing Hotchner. Dave knew he didn't have much time. Strauss would be sure to drop a large caseload on the BAU come Monday. And on a more practical level, if Hotch was still out in the wilderness, injured, he would need to be found soon if there was any hope of his ultimate survival.

There was a knock on his door and JJ came in.

"Sir, I've spoken to my contact in the police department in Plainville. They've put out the fire at the crash site so will start on the recovery process this afternoon. The Sheriff promised to keep me informed. He knows to look out for Hotch..."

Rossi heard the hesitation in her voice. "What else, JJ?"

He saw the tears well up in her eyes and rose from his chair.

"I've also had Garcia send them Hotch's medical file. The Sheriff thinks that they'll need dental records to identify some of the bodies..." she choked back a sob.

Rossi hugged her tightly. "It's okay to cry, JJ."

They remained that way for a few minutes then JJ left to return to her office and see if there were any other updates. Dave sat back down in his chair and rifled through his PDA. Finding the appropriate number, he picked up the phone and dialled. It was something that he had been dreading, but that needed to be done.

"Hello, Sean? It's Agent David Rossi from the BAU..."

***

By the following morning, the local authorities had made some progress in clearing the crash site. Between JJ and Garcia's contacts in Kansas, the team were able to ascertain that the black boxes had been found and taken away for analysis. Furthermore, all but two of the bodies had been recovered and were undergoing identification. It seemed that not all would require dental records, so the process was expected to be completed in the following days as opposed to weeks. Rossi rubbed the gold bracelet he always carried with him.

'_Still not quick enough!'_ he thought in frustration.

In the meantime, Reid and Prentiss were working under the assumption that Hotch had somehow managed to escape from the crash. They were in the process of mapping out a potential search area in the conference room.

Prentiss had a topographical map open in front of her; the same was displayed on a screen so that Reid could draw on it. He had marked the crash site with an 'X'.

"I think we have to assume that although alive, Hotch would have been injured and not moving very quickly." said Emily.

"The average person walks at 3mph on flat terrain." Reid replied, still examining the map. "Reducing that velocity to 2mph to account for injury would mean a circular area 4 miles in diameter..." he drew a large circle around the 'X'.

Prentiss looked at the result. "We can forget that bit to the northeast... way too mountainous."

Reid agreed and shaded out that part of the circle.

"Let's get this to Rossi and JJ. They'll have to be fast. The survival rate for someone with no food or water in those conditions is..."

Prentiss cut him off. "Reid!"

"What?"

"Please... this is hard enough already. Enough with the stats."

"Sorry Em..."

Morgan and Rossi came into the room at this point, so discussion returned to the search. All four agents were anxious to get started but since they were relying on others to carry it out, wanted to be sure they included all possible directions and distances that Hotch could have travelled. After much debate, they finalized the circle and sent it, along with a recent photo of Aaron, to Garcia for scanning. JJ would then forward the information to the Sheriff's office in Plainville.

"Nothing we can do now but wait." sighed Morgan.

"Have Sean and Haley been notified?" asked Prentiss. She was picturing young Jack Hotchner's reaction. "Please tell me Strauss wasn't the one making those calls..."

"No, she wasn't... I did." said Dave softly.

The other agents regarded him with sympathy. Abruptly, Rossi straightened in his chair and continued,

"Sean is out of the country and cannot get back for a couple of weeks, but he wants us to continue the search for his brother. He said he won't believe Aaron is gone until a body is produced."

"And Haley?" challenged Morgan.

Rossi sighed.

"Haley thinks that I'm an old fool. But to her credit, she's holding off on saying anything to Jack for the time being. Fortunately, he's used to his dad being away for weeks on end... God, whoever thought that Hotch's divorce would actually be a blessing..?"

***

The BAU team sat on edge for the remainder of that day and the next. They were well aware that time was running out, both for an injured and lost Hotch, and their grace period from Strauss. The lack of information was understandable, but extremely frustrating. Emotions were running high.

On the fifth day following the crash, the agents were all sitting together in the conference room, reminiscing over their years with Hotch. There were tears and laughter; it felt a little easier to deal with their feelings as a unit. Hope for a positive outcome was fading amongst Morgan, Prentiss, Reid and JJ, although nobody was prepared to voice that sentiment aloud, especially not in Rossi's presence.

JJ's phone buzzed and she excused herself. Ten minutes later and she was back with some news.

"That was the Sheriff. They've searched our entire grid and found nothing. No body, no evidence at all although he pointed out that it has been extremely windy and rainy all week so any traces may have been blown or washed away."

The team members were silent as they digested the information. It hadn't come as a surprise but was still a blow. Prentiss tried to stay positive.

"Someone could have found him and taken him to a hospital..."

"Em, we would have been notified." Morgan said.

"Not if he didn't have identification." argued Rossi.

Reid's eyes brightened suddenly and he just about leaped out of his chair. "And why would he? Guys, think about it! A long plane ride and wearing a suit... What's the first thing you're going to do?!"

Prentiss followed Reid's thought process. "Of course! Hotch would have taken off his suit jacket and stuffed his briefcase somewhere. His wallet was probably in one of those."

"I can't believe we didn't think of this before!" exclaimed Rossi. "JJ, see if they've found Hotch's briefcase in the wreckage..."

JJ was already punching numbers on her cell phone as she hurried out of the room.

"It still doesn't mean he's alive." said Morgan. "Come on guys, we need to start coming to terms with the fact that Hotch isn't coming back."

This time it was Garcia's turn to glare at Derek.

"I'm done talking to you. Agent Rossi is right. Until we have all of the facts, then there is still hope."

She faltered slightly then, "At least, that is what I am going to believe and anyone who wants to think otherwise... well, don't come near my bubble of sunshine."

Morgan shook his head in disapproval but said nothing. JJ was back moments later.

"The Sheriff phoned the person in charge of evidence collection. They are still sorting through all the pieces that were brought in, but..." she looked at her notes "'Pete' is going to take a personal walk-through and keep his eye open specifically for a briefcase. He didn't think the jacket would have survived the fire. He'll call me directly in a couple of hours."

"More waiting." groaned Prentiss.

"I'll put on some coffee." Reid volunteered.

"And I'll check into any 'John Doe' admissions into the local hospital for that night, just in case." Garcia tossed over her shoulder, already halfway out the door.

The pot of coffee had been consumed by the time the expected call from Pete came through. JJ put in onto speaker phone. Predictably, no suit jacket had been found, but Pete had a briefcase in his possession.

"The lock has been damaged by the extreme heat, bear with me..."

"Please... Just get on with it!" muttered Rossi, more to himself than to anyone else.

There was silence briefly, then Pete's voice.

"The good news is that the contents survived, for what they're worth... Unfortunately, there is no wallet only a bunch of papers on the topic of negotiation techniques... does that help?"

"It confirms the case as Agent Hotchner's and he was on that flight when it took off. Thank you for your help." Rossi hit the 'end call' button on the speaker. He lent back in his chair.

"Hotch always wore his badge on his suit jacket and carried his wallet in its inside pocket... I think we'll assume both were lost in the fire." He hit another button on the speaker.

"Yes Sir?"

"Garcia, have you found any 'John Doe's' in the hospitals within our established search area?"

"No sir. There were no admissions fitting Hotch's description to any local hospitals. I also called the 911 dispatch people. They **did** send out emergency services to a rural highway that night and it would have been within the area you were looking at... A local farmer and his wife found a couple lying severely injured on the side of the road. The woman was pronounced dead at the scene and the man airlifted to a bigger trauma hospital in Topeka..."

"Damn." said Morgan dismissively, putting his head between his hands. "We're not looking for a couple."

***


	6. Chapter 6

_Two short chapters and then the case begins. _

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 6**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

When Dr. Burnstein arrived for his shift in the ICU, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his patient had made it through the night. In spite of his hopeful tone in talking to his colleague after the previous evening's surgery, he had really thought the outcome would be different. It certainly still could be. John Doe's vital signs were unstable and he remained in a coma in extremely critical condition.

Matthew went over to the bed. The patient's skull fracture was the most life threatening. He had been placed on a ventilator to preserve his airway. After reading the updated chart, the doctor replaced the bandages, listened to the man's heart and lungs, and checked the IV. The morning's blood work had shown an increase in blood volume, a positive sign.

'_You're a fighter alright, just keep battling...' _

The next step was to ascertain the level of coma. Dr. Burnstein shone his penlight into each one of Hotch's eyes in turn. The pupils were un-reactive. Then he reached over and pinched the patient hard. He wanted a response to the painful stimulus, be it motor or verbal. He got neither. Matthew sighed and scribbled: "3 – deep coma under the Glasgow Coma Scale" on the man's chart. It was the worst possible score.

On his way out of the ICU, Dr. Burnstein stopped at the nurses' station to order another head CT scan. He wanted to see if any of the swelling had gone down overnight and to pinpoint the area of the brain most affected by the trauma.

"Any news of identity or family?" he asked the nurse on duty.

She shook her head sadly. "Not yet."

Matthew dropped his head briefly.

"Well" he said resignedly, "keep me posted. And please page me as soon as the CT results come back."

***

It was just after midday when Dr. Burnstein heard his beeper go off. He drained the remains of a soft drink and hurried back to the ICU. A nurse handed him a large envelope: John Doe's CT results. He tore it open and carefully examined the scan. It showed that the injured portion of patient's brain was the temporal lobe, directly under the fracture. It was too early to know the full extent or permanency of the damage; there was a slight decline in the swelling but it would need to go down further before a prognosis could be made. In the meantime, Matthew prescribed an anticonvulsant medication. If the man survived, he could be at risk for seizures; the doctor hoped to minimize this susceptibility.

"No other changes?" he inquired of the nurse.

"No Doctor B... But that policeman sitting over there wants to talk with you. I think he might have an ID for our John Doe."

"Ok, thanks."

He went over to the officer, extending his hand. "I'm Doctor Burnstein, how can I help?"

The policeman shook the proffered hand. "I understand that you have a John Doe, arrived by chopper last night?"

"That's right."

"And he was found with a woman?"

"I think so... we were concentrating on saving the man's life, I didn't stop to question the paramedics."

"Well, we've identified the woman... an Amanda Torres. The medical examiner found a credit card receipt in her pocket. She also wore a wedding ring."

Matthew frowned. "Any idea of what happened to them? I'm guessing you think our man is the husband?"

The officer nodded.

"Yes we do, although we don't have any proof. As for the woman's COD, the ME says trauma to the internal organs... slowly bled to death, poor thing. We thought at first they might have come from that plane that crashed, but the odds of them making it as far as that highway given their condition... I guess nothing's impossible, but it's highly unlikely."

The doctor looked in the direction of his patient's bed.

'_I wonder... He's already shown he can beat the odds... and his injuries would certainly be consistent with a terrible accident...'_

Before he could further question the policeman, his beeper sounded.

"Sorry, I've got to go..." he apologized.

"We'll keep you posted as we try to locate any more family, but John Doe seems to be Mr. Torres."

'_At least he has a name now.'_ thought Matthew and left to reply to his page.

***


	7. Chapter 7

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 7**

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

First thing on Monday, Section Chief Strauss entered the BAU's conference room to find all six agents and Garcia waiting for her. It had been a week since their Unit Chief's plane had gone down. There was little more that the team could do until the identification of the bodies was complete. Consequently, everyone was glad to have something to distract them from the myriad of emotions running through their heads.

Once Strauss had seen for herself that the BAU members were present and seemingly alright, she left them to it. JJ hadn't received any cases requiring them all, nor any needing travel, so she distributed folders on an individual basis. Arms piled with the new files, each returned to his/her own desk and began to work.

The sole morning update of the plane crash came from CNN. The recordings taken from the black boxes had suggested the small aircraft had been caught in the 'wake' of a tornado and was simply too light to withstand the resultant shear forces. The pilots were being lauded as heroes for giving those on board a fighting chance for survival. Instead of allowing the plane to nose-dive, they had fought until the very end to attempt some semblance of a landing and had succeeded; the plane was found on its belly.

'_There's still hope...'_ thought Rossi, watching the news from the balcony above the bullpen.

Further hope came in the form of a phone call from the Plainville Sheriff later that afternoon. The team huddled around Prentiss' desk waiting for JJ.

"He's not there!" she exclaimed excitedly as she entered the bullpen. "They've finished identifying all the bodies and Hotch's was **not** amongst them!"

Rossi closed his eyes in silent prayer. He was well aware that the body may simply have been destroyed in the fire, but now the thought of Hotch escaping was now plausible. He was more determined than ever to maintain the hunt. With his brain processing all of the known information, Dave leapt into action.

"Garcia, I'm going to need the names and address of the couple who found the injured man and woman that night. I'm also going to need the address of the hospital in Topeka. JJ, please book me on the next flight..."

Morgan held up his hand.

"Whoa! Rossi, you can't be thinking of going there yourself? Man, we need you here. We have a job to do! Fine, keep the search alive, but let the locals handle it."

Rossi looked at the younger agent.

"At the moment, you **don't** need me. I'll be back in 48hours and reachable on my cell 24hrs a day."

"But Rossi, it was a couple they found, dammit!"

Dave stroked his goatee thoughtfully.

"Yessss, I know. But think Derek! Would Hotch leave anyone behind if he thought that they stood half a chance of living?"

Even Morgan had to admit this made sense. Hotch was the epitomy of unselfishness and would be the last man out in an emergency. His eyes softened and he regarded his superior.

"Ok, go. We'll cover for you with Strauss."

Rossi smiled briefly and had started to head to his office for his 'go bag' when Strauss walked through the door to the BAU.

"Good!" she said, "You're all together! Please meet me in the conference room in five minutes."

***

Strauss took a deep breath as she addressed the assembled group for the second time in as many days.

"Firstly, I wanted to thank you for professionalism under exceptional circumstances." She paused. "Agent Hotchner would have been proud of each one of you."

Silence followed this opening remark. The team were well aware of the history of friction between Hotch and the Section Chief. Consequently, she didn't have their trust... or their respect. And they certainly didn't need her telling them what Hotch would or would not think of them.

Rossi could sense the tension in the room. Reid had already tuned out, Morgan was barely controlling his anger and Prentiss was staring daggers at her superior. JJ and Garcia both sat heads down, not trusting themselves to look at anyone.

"Erin, please just get to the point." Dave said.

Strauss seethed at the informal use of her first name in the presence of the younger agents, but swiftly recovered her composure; not, however, before they all noticed the subtle slight delivered by Rossi. Morgan smirked and relaxed.

"Yes, well, things are about to get..." Strauss coughed. "...awkward. You're about to get a new case and a new colleague."

There were furious glances around the room.

"Erin, Aaron isn't even buried yet!" snarled Rossi.

She had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

"I know." she said, adopting a softer tone. "But this person and the case came as one. And he is only temporary. When the case is over, he will leave."

Rossi's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And just who is this 'new' colleague?"

None could believe their ears when the reply came. "Jason Gideon."

***


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks to Sue for her suggestion/review with the DNA... wish I'd been smart enough to think of it on my own but that's what reviews are for! Thanks!_

_And finally the case begins... well... almost... ;)  
_

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 8**

**BAU, FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

"You've got to be kidding me?!" Morgan said furiously, rising out of his chair. "That man walked out on us! Not a word of warning, no good-bye, just ran away!"

"Agent Morgan, calm down!" snapped Strauss. "I am well aware that Jason's departure was inopportune..."

"Inopportune?! He..!"

Prentiss grabbed hold of Morgan's arm and pulled him back down. Rossi was watching Reid's reaction closely. Aaron had once briefly filled him in on the chain of events leading to Gideon's disappearance. Reid had seen Gideon as more than a mentor; he had been a father figure. And although Spencer was the only team member to have received any sort of explanation from Jason, a letter, Reid had told Hotch he still didn't understand the older agent's leaving without saying a proper good-bye to the team.

Dave also knew that Gideon hadn't seen fit to share his plans or feelings with Aaron even though the two men were allegedly close friends. Although Aaron hadn't admitted it, Rossi knew that Hotch had been hurt. In fact, all the team members would have felt some degree of disappointment and/or anger. He was sure that despite time passing, some resentment would linger, especially under the current circumstances. Could fate have provided a more difficult first case as replacement Unit Chief? Reid, for his part, was doing his best to look unmoved, but his body had tensed visibly.

'_I'm going to have to keep an eye on him.'_ Rossi thought.

Strauss continued,

"Jason will be arriving tomorrow and will brief you himself. Until then, I suggest you clear as much as possible off of your desk. From the little I've been told, you will all be very busy."

She turned to Rossi.

"Agent Rossi, as Unit Chief you will be leading this case. Gideon has not had his credentials reissued and will act in a consultant capacity."

"He's not field-ready?" Morgan shook his head in disgust.

Rossi put up his hand.

"Enough. There's a killer out there and we will do what is necessary to bring that person or persons to justice. Gideon had great instincts and insights; those don't go away just because he chose to move on. If it helps, remember that we're doing this for Hotch, not for Gideon. Let's try to keep the past in the past."

"Still don't like it..." muttered Morgan sullenly.

He remained seated as the others got up and went back to bullpen and to their paperwork. Rossi lingered until just he and Morgan were left, and shut the door.

"Derek, how can I help?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. You've been insubordinate with your superiors and snapping at your colleagues ever since the news about the crash came through. So I repeat, how can I help?"

"You can't." said Morgan flatly.

Rossi regarded the younger man.

"Derek, I know how much you respected Hotch... he knew that too."

"This isn't about Hotch!"

"Yes it is. I think you're trying to protect yourself from the pain of loss by lashing out. You **want** to believe that he is still alive, but you can't bring yourself to hope, because if we're wrong, if Hotch really is gone, then you'll have to grieve twice."

Morgan's jaw tightened but there were tears in his eyes. He looked away.

"Hotch..." he took a deep breath, "Hotch believed in me when no one else did. He saved my ass and my career. In Chicago he found out my darkest secret and has never used it against me, no matter how badly I've screwed up. He's told me he trusted me with his life..."

The tears began to stream down Derek's face. He wiped them away angrily.

"And you know how I've repaid all that?! I've kept quiet. I've never told him how great a profiler I thought he was, how much I respected him..." his voice dropped to a whisper, "...how much I cared about him..."

With a sudden burst of emotion, he pounded the table with his fist. "And now it's too late, dammit!"

Rossi saw the raw pain and regret in Morgan's face, the pain of someone who believed they would never get another chance to make things right.

"Derek, Hotch knows. I'm sure of it. He understands this team better than anyone. He won't ever talk about it, but he knows."

Morgan looked at his feet, shoulders slumped. "You're still using present tense, Rossi..."

"Yes Derek, I am." He paused. "And you know what else? It's not too late. Now **you** can believe in **him**."

***

Jason Gideon opened the doors to the BAU and looked around. In some ways, it was as though he had never left. The bullpen was still a hive of activity. Agents sat working on individual case files, delivering phone consultations or taking a break in the small makeshift kitchen. But on the other hand, Gideon felt a stranger. He glanced up to the two offices which overlooked the Unit. The office on the left was dark and the door closed. Even under normal circumstances, this would be reason for unease. SSA Hotchner had the reputation for working extremely long hours; everyone expected his office to be occupied. Jason felt a jolt of sadness, knowing the man he had once called a friend had tragically been killed in a recent plane crash and would never return to open that door.

The office on the right, the one that had once been his, now had a different occupant. Despite the two men each being considered BAU pioneers, Gideon had never met David Rossi although of course had heard all about him. He hoped that Agent Rossi would be as easy to work with as Hotch had been.

Mounting the stairs, Gideon looked for a familiar face, for another member of the team. But no one came out to greet him. He made for Rossi's office. The door was slightly ajar, and he heard a man's voice,

"It's worth a shot, JJ. Send it out to both the farm couple and the paramedics on duty that night... Yes... Ok... Thanks."

Gideon was about to knock when the door opened and a man wearing jeans, dress shirt and blazer stood before him. He had dark, slightly greying hair and a goatee.

"Ah, you must be Jason. David Rossi."

The two shook hands and Rossi motioned the visitor into a chair.

"I thought that maybe we should talk before we meet with the team..."

Gideon smiled slightly. "I expect the announcement of my arrival was met with some surprise and maybe some resistance..?"

"A little." admitted Rossi. "But I've asked everyone to try to put the past behind them... which will not be easy at the moment. Emotions are running high... you've heard about SSA Hotchner?"

Jason nodded. "I'm sorry... Hotch was a good agent and a great man."

The new Unit Chief regarded the man opposite him. He wasn't in the mood to talk about his friend, especially to someone who had, unintentionally or not, hurt him. "Yes, Aaron is an exceptional human being."

"Is?"

"Pardon?"

"You said 'is', present tense."

"Did I?" Rossi said in mock surprise, but he gave no explanation. Instead, he changed the subject.

"I'd recommend taking it slowly with Morgan and Reid. They seemed to have the greatest reaction to the news of your return, and to be blunt, I don't want your appearance disrupting our team."

Gideon spread out his arms.

"I'm here to catch a killer. And I wouldn't do anything to harm anyone in the BAU."

Dave looked at him expressionlessly.

"But you already have." he said quietly. "They feel betrayed. Reid and Hotch especially so... I can't look out for Aaron, but I sure as hell will make sure Spencer is okay."

There was silence as the two men stared at each other. Finally, Gideon broke eye contact and rose from his chair.

"We're wasting time Agent Rossi. Shall we get started?"

***

Just as Rossi had predicted, Gideon received a cold stare from Morgan and uneasy looks from the rest of the team as they filed slowly into the conference room, minus JJ who, according to Dave, was working on an unrelated but urgent matter.

Standing in front of the screen, Gideon addressed the group. He made no apology for his abrupt departure some eighteen months earlier and gave no explanation. He did express his sorrow for the loss of Hotch but was wise enough not to dwell on it. Jason had always meant to re-establish contact with Aaron, but saying that to the others at this stage simply sounded false, even to his ears. He reached into his briefcase, took out a number of folders and handed them round.

"Okay ladies and gentlemen, let me give you the background to this case as I know it. For the past four months I have been living in a remote cabin near the Shenandoah Mountains. Ten days ago, there were two murders in a near-by small town called Cootes Store. They occurred roughly two days apart and it wasn't immediately obvious whether the killings were connected.

"I have a friend in law enforcement that I fish with on occasion. After the second murder, he asked me to consult informally on the case and I agreed. Within 72hours, we had 2 more bodies. Now it was clear that we were dealing with a serial killer; the signature was the same."

"Not much of a cooling off period." commented Prentiss.

"No." agreed Gideon. "And being a small town, the locals are in a state of panic." He got up, agitated, and began pacing.

"When I left the BAU, I left to put it all behind me. I've moved on and I have no desire to pick up my old FBI life. I'm asking for your help to bring some normalcy back to my town..." At this point, Jason seemed to realize that he was getting off track. "Let me show you the signature."

He was about to start in on the crime scene photos, but stopped when JJ rushed into the room, her eyes dancing.

"I think we've found him!"

There was an immediate change in the room's atmosphere. Prentiss and Reid looked at each other with surprised smiles, a beaming Garcia hugged Morgan and Rossi leaned back in his chair, a look of joy and vindication on his face.

"Where, JJ?"

"Well, I sent the photo of Hotch to the farm couple in Plainville, to the paramedics on duty the night of the crash and to the trauma hospital in Topeka as you asked. I still haven't heard back from the hospital, but **all four** of the other witnesses will swear that the picture looks exactly like the injured man. The hospital may have misidentified Hotch based on the ID found on the woman and the assumption they were a married couple."

"And he's still alive?" Morgan asked anxiously.

"As far as we know but we cannot be certain until I hear back from Topeka. He was alive when he arrived at the hospital and survived emergency surgery, so that's something."

"Do you realize that to make it to that rural highway, Hotch would have had to have travelled over a mile and a half over rough terrain?!" Reid's brain had already done the calculations and his eyes were wide in disbelief.

"And in that stormy weather." added Garcia proudly.

"And injured..." said JJ.

"That's Hotch." remarked Rossi, shaking his head in admiration.

"What about the woman found with Hotch?" asked Prentiss.

"I think we've found our other missing body." said Morgan. "Like Rossi said, Hotch probably helped her to escape but she died before help arrived."

"Garcia." began Rossi, coming to a decision. "Get yourself out to the hospital in Topeka. We need an update on his condition. You can work this case from there, but you'll stay as long as necessary until we can join you. Take whatever equipment you can."

"Yes Sir." Garcia was gone.

"JJ, in the meantime call the hospital and have them get a sample of DNA from the patient. Let me know the minute you can confirm its Hotch; I'll need to call Sean and Haley again."

"Of course, Sir."

Jason Gideon had remained quiet through the whole exchange. Nobody had been paying any attention to him, so they missed the flicker of surprise and elation that passed over his face when he heard that Hotch may still be alive, may yet return home to the BAU. This was all great news. What wasn't such good news to Gideon was the loss of the BAU's technical analyst.

"Agent Rossi, we'll need the services of Garcia..." he said calmly.

Rossi turned to the newest member of the team.

"I realize that Jason. And she will have access to everything she needs once she's settled." He looked unwaveringly into the other's eyes, challenging him to disagree,

"But Hotch needs a friend. Perhaps I misjudged you but I assumed that you might have more of a problem if we **all** headed to Kansas and left you alone with this case..?"

Gideon said nothing. He knew that he was seen as just a visitor now, someone who was perceived as having betrayed the team's trust and friendship. Rossi was the new Unit Chief and obviously not afraid to exercise that authority. It was going to be an interesting case.

***


	9. Chapter 9

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 9**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

Two weeks had passed since 'Mr. Torres' had been airlifted to the hospital and had undergone emergency surgery. He still lay in a deep coma but there were some small signs that he was indeed fighting for his life. His vital signs were slightly stronger and had stabilized, which came as a huge relief to the ICU medical team.

Unfortunately, the hope for finding any family had faded. The best the doctors could hope for was for the patient to provide them with that information when or if he awoke. Therefore, the initial phone call requesting John Doe's DNA followed by the arrival of a flamboyantly dressed woman with long blond hair, highlighted in pink and asking for the patient took the Admissions staff by surprise. They paged Dr. Burnstein, the man's surgeon and Head of the ICU's Trauma team.

As Garcia waited for the arrival of the doctor, she fidgeted with the picture in her hands. She hated hospitals and had done so even before her own near-death experience. On this occasion, she was terrified that either the man was not Hotch, in which case hope really would be lost, or that it was Hotch but he wouldn't live. What would she say to her BAU friends? She didn't think she had it in her to be the bearer of such news.

Realizing her negative thinking, she chastised herself and turned her attention to a young couple who were about to take home a baby.

'_Good! Giggle supply renewed!'_ She smiled.

"Ah, Ms. Garcia?" a deep voice asked.

Garcia looked up to find a very good-looking doctor standing in front of her. He had a compassionate face, she thought.

"Hi. Please call me Penelope."

"You're from the FBI?" the doctor said it kindly, but looked dubious.

Garcia handed him her identification.

"I'm here about the John Doe that was flown in by helicopter about two weeks ago... is he okay?

Dr. Burnstein frowned slightly. "You mean Mr. Torres?"

"Uh... that isn't his name, no..." she said, confused.

"Perhaps you'd better show me a picture of the man you're looking for." Matthew said gently, seeing the woman's distress and the contents of her hand. "The DNA results haven't come back yet."

"Oh! Yes, I forgot! Sorry..." Garcia handed over the photo. She was afraid to look at the doctor, but she willed herself to be strong and raised her eyes. Amazingly, he was nodding!

"Well, Technical Analyst Garcia... Penelope... this man is definitely my patient."

Garcia's eyes filled with tears but she grinned broadly.

"That's my boss-man, Aaron Hotchner. He's the best! Pretends to be all serious, but..." She realized she was babbling and still didn't know his condition.

"Oh god, I didn't ask... Is he... you said 'is', present tense... He's still alive?"

The doctor nodded, but put his hand on her arm. "Yes, he is alive, but in extremely critical condition."

The smile left Garcia. She looked at him in horror.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere more private and I can explain it all. But first, I'd like you to see him yourself, so that we can be sure of a positive identification."

Garcia nodded and the two walked through the doors leading to the ICU. Dr. Burnstein noticed that the woman was obviously uncomfortable. He didn't blame her; intensive care was not generally a happy place. He stopped her.

"I have to warn you, this won't be easy... Your boss has sustained very serious injuries to a good portion of his body. There will be lots of tubes and wires in addition to the bandages. He also has a machine helping him to breathe..."

Already trembling, Garcia grabbed the doctor's hand. He took it and led her slowly behind the curtain.

It took every bit of her strength not to fall to her knees at the sight of her normally strong, resilient supervisor. SSA Aaron Hotchner was lying flat on his back, his bare chest a road map of wires. As the surgeon had described, there were several tubes coming out of Hotch's torso and Garcia could see countless deep cuts and bruises in-between the bandages; their dark colouring was in stark contrast to his even paler-than-usual skin. His lower body was covered by a thin sheet but she could make out the bulk of a cast on his right lower leg. A splint was wrapped around his left wrist, leaving just enough room for the IV cannula inserted on the back of his hand. But most disturbing of all was the large dressing wrapped around the Unit Chief's head. That, together with the look and sound of the ventilator, brought more tears to Penelope's eyes.

"Will he..? Will he..?" she gulped. "Will he live?" she whispered.

"We're more hopeful now than we were a week ago. His vital signs have stabilized."

Matthew gently led her back out to the main corridor and to a small empty waiting room. "Are you sure you want to do this? I can talk to your colleagues directly..."

"Thank you, but I have to know too."

"Okay. Well, let's start with the simpler things. Agent... Hotchner was it..? has a good number of broken bones, including some ribs, his leg and a fractured wrist. All of those will mend..."

The technical analyst scribbled notes, knowing that the rest of the team would want every detail.

"When he arrived, he was bleeding internally into his abdomen. We had to remove his spleen and repair the abdominal wall. He had lost a great deal of blood by this point so we were concerned about shock or infection. His heart did stop once, but we brought him back and so far, so good since then."

Garcia stopped writing and looked apprehensively at the doctor. "It gets worse than his heart stopping?!"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Mr. Hotchner sustained a fractured skull."

Penelope gasped, dropping her pen. "Oh my god!"

"His brain swelled in response to the injury so in order to let it expand, we drilled a small hole in the skull. We are keeping it covered and will close it once the swelling has gone down."

Garcia closed her eyes. The joy at finding Hotch alive was quickly being replaced by worry and fear. She was feeling overwhelmed with all of the medical terms, with the whole situation. She wished that Morgan or JJ were here with her... and with Hotch.

"Has he woken up?" she dared to ask.

The doctor shook his head. "No, he is currently in a deep coma, unresponsive to any stimuli..."

It was all too much. Penelope began to cry. Matthew took hold of her hands and waited patiently for her to compose herself again.

"What you have to understand is that the depth of coma does not always tell us about how well a patient can recover. That is a combination of factors, like the degree of injury, its location in the brain, the patient's age and motivation."

"Hotch is VERY motivated." stated Garcia emphatically through her tears.

Dr. Burnstein nodded.

"I know. It's why he is still alive. With your boss' injuries, it would have taken more than a miracle for someone to survive that plane crash and somehow get help. You have to believe in him, Penelope. It is very important. There can only be positive vibes in his room."

"Then you've got the right girl. I'm the queen of positive vibrations!" She tried to smile.

"Excellent." said the doctor encouragingly. "This will be a waiting game. Aaron could be in a coma for days or weeks, sometimes months... We won't be able to say anything about the degree of damage until the swelling goes down or he regains consciousness, whichever comes first."

Penelope swallowed. "Understood. Can I stay with him at least? I'm here until he wakes up."

Matthew smiled.

"Of course. I'll have a more comfortable chair brought in and a desk for your laptop. You won't have the internet, obviously, but you should be able to get some work done."

"Thank you." Garcia gathered up her belongings then paused. "And Doctor..? Do you think Hotch can hear what I say if I talk to him?"

The doctor held open the door for her. "I believe so... and it certainly won't harm him to know he has loved ones praying for him. Mr. Hotchner will need all the strength he can get."

***


	10. Chapter 10

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter ****10**

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

The team were gathered yet again in the BAU room. Reid was playing with a pencil. Morgan was slumped in his chair staring into space. Prentiss and Rossi were pretending to be re-reading the case file. Gideon was watching all of them although he too had butterflies in his stomach. Everyone was on edge... waiting.

When JJ opened the door with her cell to her ear, they all jerked to attention.

"I'm going to put you on speaker phone now, Pen."

She pushed a button on a box in the middle of the table.

"Can you hear me peoples?" Garcia's voice sounded crystal clear.

"Good to go, Baby Doll." said Morgan. "How is he?"

Garcia read from her notes, trying not to start crying again. She needed to be strong. For the family that couldn't be there, that had sent her. And for her boss... for Hotch.

The team listened attentively, cringing at the long list of injuries and trying to think positively. It all seemed manageable until Hotch's head injury was described. Garcia's voice cracked and even Rossi was left gripping the edge of the table with both hands, eyes shut.

"Dr. Burnstein said he was unresponsive to any stimuli... I didn't quite understand that."

"A coma is assessed initially by the 'Glasgow coma scale'" supplied Reid animatedly, his hands moving a mile a minute as he warmed to the topic. "It quantifies reactions like eye opening, verbal and movement responses to vocal or painful stimuli. The lower the reaction, the lower the score. The worst score is a '3'."

A brief silence, then "That's what Hotch scored..."

"I wish you hadn't just said that." lamented JJ dejectedly.

Garcia broke in quickly,

"Jay, when I totally freaked out the doc said that the depth of the coma doesn't mean he won't recover. That seems to be based more on... Wait a minute while I find it... Got it! It depends on where the injury is in the brain, extent of damage, age and motivation of the patient. And we know Hotch is strong and definitely motivated."

"Yes, he is." Rossi said firmly through clenched teeth. "He's always been a fighter."

"One of the worst things is watching that horrible pump going up and down, knowing that it is breathing for him... The sound..." Garcia stopped.

"People who are in a coma have a greater chance of asphyxiation." Reid fell into his nervous habit of quoting facts and statistics. He began to speak more quickly. "They lose control over the muscles in their face and throat. The tube will be protecting Hotch's airway. The odds..."

"It's still horrible." said Garcia, interrupting the young genius before she heard another morbid statistic.

Morgan tried to distract her from the image. "Anything else you can think of, Sweetness?" he asked.

"Um... Hotch has been put on anticonvulsants..?"

The team looked at Reid expectantly and he responded eagerly.

"That's normal procedure. Fifty percent of people with penetrating head injuries will develop seizures. It's less... 15-20% for non-penetrating injuries but doctors will still use anticonvulsant drugs within the first week to minimize the risk of epilepsy later on."

He paused for breath then rushed on.

"But the fact that Hotch's injury was a closed fracture and that he hasn't had any seizures since being in the hospital means he's made it through that crucial period."

"That's something at least." said Prentiss dryly. "Reid, how do you get your lips to move fast enough for the words to come out?!"

Reid looked confused while the others smiled.

"Garcia?" Reid leant forward towards the speaker phone, ignoring his colleagues.

"It is REALLY essential that you remember to say only positive things in Hotch's presence. Studies have been done interviewing previous coma patients. They report the patients remembering in great detail events from their coma time."

"Thanks for the reminder Professor. Rest assured that I will be the ray of sunshine for our fallen leader."

"Garcia, we've got to get going." Rossi said, glancing at his watch and at Gideon, who had remained impassive and quiet throughout the conversation. "I'll contact you in an hour, but for now, please go and sit with Hotch... tell him we all send our strength and will be there as soon as we can."

"I will Sir. Bye lovelies!"

"The most important thing is that he's alive and showing signs of fight." declared Rossi after ending the call.

He then turned to the folder in front of him and opened it.

"Okay, it's time to get started on this case. Let's see those crime scene photos, Jason, and hear the rest of what you've got."

Gideon aimed the remote at the screen and a photo of a body appeared.

"Sarah Thompson, 44 years old, a high-school principal. She was married with one child. Suffocated then strangled. Her body was found face up in her office by the morning caretaker."

"Is that writing on her chest?" asked Reid, squinting at the image.

"Yes, I'll get to that after I show you all of the victims." Jason flipped to the next picture. "The second victim is Jeff Henry, aged 38 years, newly appointed Fire Chief. Suffocated then strangled... His body was found in his apartment by his girlfriend when she came home after a late night out with some friends.

"Victim number three was found suffocated and strangled in her home. Dianne Mitchell aged 40 and a Branch Manager at the main bank in town. Single.

"And our latest victim:" Gideon set down the remote after forwarding to the final slide, "Pastor Eric Kennedy, 52 years old, found just outside of his church by a neighbour on an early morning walk."

He looked around the table.

"Getting the idea? Same MO: suffocation then strangulation... and all were stripped naked, placed on their backs and written upon, as you've seen. The writing is done in a permanent black ink and in Latin. Each phrase has been different."

"Seems our unsub has some intelligence." commented Prentiss.

"And organized." said Morgan. "He would have needed time to strip the body and write on it without worrying about being disturbed."

"Is there a theme to the writing?" asked JJ.

"I thought that would be a good puzzle for Dr. Reid." said Gideon, looking over at the young genius.

Reid bit his lip and avoided making eye contact with Gideon. He still wasn't sure how he felt about his old mentor's return. He also wasn't sure how to respond to the challenge so he glanced questioningly at Rossi for guidance.

Rossi nodded.

"Reid, you and Prentiss start on victimology. I'll join you shortly. Morgan, you and JJ take Jason and go to Cootes Store. I'd like your take on the crime scenes and we need to talk to friends and relatives of the victims."

"You're not coming?" Morgan raised his eyebrows at Rossi as he got up and followed JJ and Gideon towards the door.

"No. You three can handle it. I'll run point from here and ensure Garcia is involved."

In truth, Rossi wanted to remain at Quantico in case further news on Hotch became available. The team knew this and understood; they were all thinking about him too.

***

"So what do we know about the victims?" Prentiss spread out photos of the crime scene, the victims and the Latin texts on the large table.

Reid began creating a victim board and timeline as Rossi leaned back in his chair.

"There are no immediately obvious connections between the victims." observed Dave. "The killer targets men and women, various ages and different occupations."

"The unsub's lack of type suggests either a 'recognition seeker', 'power/control' or 'thrill seeker' personality." said Reid, "'Mission oriented' and 'hedonistic' serial killers tend to discriminate in their selection of victim."

"A good assumption but I'll get Garcia to do some background checks. It's a small town so someone may be harbouring a grudge." Rossi made a note to himself.

Prentiss was skimming the autopsy report. "The MO seems to point towards a male unsub."

Reid nodded in agreement. "Thirty-seven percent of male serial killers will use suffocation versus just 16% of women."

"And it would have taken a good deal of strength to overpower the fire chief." said Rossi.

He jotted another note. "Morgan will be able to tell us if there is any evidence of prior incapacitation at the crime scenes."

"The tox report was negative." Prentiss noted, still flipping through the medical examiner's findings. She frowned. "Why the suffocation AND strangulation? Seems like overkill. It's obvious he could have finished the job by suffocation alone so why change?"

"Suffocation is less personal." replied Rossi. "The unsub has less direct contact with the victim so gives up some of his control. Our power/control guy wants to feel life leaving his victim's body. He can get that far better with strangulation; it is much more intimate and personal."

"Strangulation accounts for 10% of all violent crime." supplied Reid. "It only takes 11lbs of pressure to incapacitate someone and after 50seconds they will never recover."

"Still doesn't explain the two methods." protested Prentiss. "I get the point about strangulation so why bother with the initial suffocation?"

"Partial incapacitation?" guessed Reid.

"Something sexual?" Rossi suggested. "We might get an idea from the crime scene information so let's leave it for now. Meanwhile, Reid, any pattern to the Latin?"

Reid had been translating the phrases all the time he'd been talking and was writing them on the board:

Principal ~ Imperator ~ 'Emperor'

Fire Chief ~ Ubi maior, minor cessat ~ 'The weak capitulates before the strong'

Bank Mgr ~ Fiat justi tia (et ruat caelum) ~ 'Let justice be done'

Minister ~ Ut sementem feceris, ita metes ~ 'As you sow, so shall you reap'

"Looks like our unsub thinks he is god-like." mused Prentiss. "Emperor, justice... He may feel he is delivering punishment."

"The talk of 'weak and strong' would fit with that too." Reid added. "... And with our theory that he's a power/control type."

"I think we can assume he's well-educated or at least well-read. Latin isn't all that common as a second language." Prentiss studied the board.

"So unless it's just a hobby, we can start by looking in professions requiring Latin: law, medicine, academia, specifically the social sciences." Reid moved back to the table and sat down.

"Good." approved Rossi. "We're getting close to a partial profile once we hear from the others. In the meantime, I'll get Garcia to start digging into the backgrounds of our victims and any town gossip. Reid, contact JJ and let her know what we've got so far."

***

**COOTES STORE, VA.**

Leaving JJ at the police station to set up a local operations room and to arrange interviews with family and friends of the deceased, Morgan, Gideon and Sheriff Tucker visited all four crime scenes. At the last, they ducked under the yellow police tape and began walking up the path leading to the stone church in front of them. They were starting to formulate some additions to the profile based on their observations but so far had no suspects.

Halfway along the path a chalk outline of a man had replaced the body of Pastor Kennedy.

"Just like the others, the scene is clean... no blood, no DNA, nothing obviously out of place." said Gideon, looking around. "Okay, Morgan, how did I do it? Sheriff you're the Pastor, I'll be the unsub..."

Morgan stood looking his surroundings. "Sheriff, you're coming to check in on the church one last time before going home for the night. Gideon, you've been watching him for days, you know this is his pattern..."

Gideon obligingly moved to duck behind a small bush. Sheriff Tucker pretended to be unlocking the front door to the church. When he looked down at the lock, Gideon darted from the bush and was behind the sheriff in three steps.

Morgan stood thinking. "The pastor may or may not have heard the unsub, but regardless, he doesn't have time to react or cry out before the killer begins to suffocate him... now why doesn't he finish the job?"

"It's not enough to satisfy him. His fantasy needs more." Gideon said simply.

"Okay, so he decides to move on to strangulation." Morgan returned to his narrative. "Already being incapacitated, the pastor can't fight back. The unsub finishes the job, making sure the body is facing upwards on the ground. The whole thing doesn't take more than a couple of minutes... After that, it's easy. Strip the body and leave the Latin message."

Gideon frowned. He was looking back towards the road.

"Not so easy." he disagreed. "There is no cover between here and the road. Let's make sure this is the actual killing place and not inside the church or behind it."

The Sheriff reached for his walkie-talkie. "I'll get my men right on it. Have you learned anything else from the mock up?"

"We know he must stalk his victims beforehand to take them so easily." Morgan surmised.

"We also know that the unsub is getting bolder." Gideon said quietly.

"How?" asked the Sheriff in some alarm.

"The other three bodies were found indoors where there is less risk of the unsub being seen. Not only is this outdoors, but it's in clear sight of a main road. Given the time he spends with the victims, this indicates supreme confidence." Jason replied.

"Do you think it is a coincidence that he gets braver with a priest?" Morgan asked.

"No." said Gideon calmly. "The unsub doesn't leave anything to chance. He is highly intelligent. Given what Dr. Reid has told us of the Latin translations, the killer has an exalted opinion of himself. It is no surprise that he chose to send a message of power and control by murdering a priest on holy ground."

Morgan shuddered involuntarily and they headed back to the station to share their findings with the rest of the team.

***

Several hours later Rossi gave the green light to deliver a partial profile to the Cootes Store and neighbouring police departments. He had also asked JJ to prepare a press release. The wording was deliberately provocative in an attempt to flush out the unsub by giving him the opposite of what he craved; descriptors such as 'coward' and 'weakling' had been used.

Morgan and Gideon stood in front of the group of twenty or so assembled police officers as JJ passed out a summary sheet. Sheriff Tucker brought the briefing to order.

"Thank you all for coming. As you know, we have a serial killer on the loose in our district and I have brought in the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit for help. Jason Gideon is ex-BAU, a local and has been consulting with us from day one. He, along with Agents Morgan, Jareau and their team back at Quantico have put together a partial profile so that we can all start to find potential suspects.

"BAU? You people build psychological profiles, right? How is that going to narrow anything down? It's not like the killer is going to walk around with 'murderer' plastered on his forehead!" grunted one officer, frowning and looking very doubtful.

"Jack, let's listen to what they have to say. You can ask questions afterwards."

Gideon spoke up. "It's okay Ted." He addressed the officer. "We are not here to step on your toes and no, a profile is not a replacement for physical evidence. But you can learn a great deal by observing behaviour and someone may recognize our description. Please, just hear us out."

The other man shrugged but his face said that he already found the meeting a waste of time.

Moving to stand beside the sheriff, Morgan began:

"The man we're looking for is white and in his early 40's..."

He saw some of the officers roll their eyes and cross their arms. Ignoring them, he pushed on, his tone firm and confident.

"The Latin left on the victim's body suggests that he is well educated and probably has an occupation in something requiring knowledge of that subject such as medicine, law or academia.

"He is exceptionally organized and calculated. His crime scenes are staged and clean; he leaves no evidence behind. We don't know what he's using to suffocate the victims but wears gloves for the strangulation. All of these things imply a good grasp of forensic science."

The group of officers began taking notes. Gideon put down the cup of coffee he had been holding and carried on:

"The unsub is motivated by power and control. He has no preferred victim type. He is highly intelligent, able to plan his killings perfectly so that he has time to spend with the bodies without fear of discovery.

Another officer raised her hand. "Excuse me, but how do you know he spends so much time with the bodies?"

Gideon smiled at her. "Good question. We know because of his signature, the part of the crime that is repeated with each kill. In this instance, all of the bodies have been stripped and put in the same position. This alone would take time, especially when you consider that no trace evidence has been found at any of the scenes.

"It would also take time to write in ink on a body and so neatly. The unsub takes great pleasure in each stroke of the pen. It is part of his fantasy."

"Fantasy?" questioned the sheriff from a near-by town.

"The killer isn't killing for the sake of it. He is killing to fuel his desire for power. This is what gives him sexual release." Morgan answered grimly.

Several officers looked at each other, disgusted.

Gideon went on.

"It is probable that the unsub stalks his targets so he has intimate knowledge of their habits. Strangling the victims is another demonstration of his power and control; he enjoys the feeling of life leaving the body. The Latin writing references an Emperor; the unsub has a very high opinion of himself. It all plays into his fantasy of being strong and superior.

"He is socially adequate so will not seem out of place in daily life or in this town. However, because the majority of organized psychopaths and sociopaths kill outside of their comfort zones and will cross jurisdictions to evade detection, we do not believe our unsub is a long-term local, if a resident at all.

The room was quiet. Even the original doubting officer was silent.

"Any other questions?"

A shaking of heads.

"If you think of anything, please do not hesitate to ask. Circulate this profile. Someone out there has seen this man. We will leave business cards with the Sheriffs."

Gideon brought his hands together.

"That's it ladies and gentlemen. Be vigilant. Keep talking with each other and with us. We are certain of one thing... Unless the unsub finds another way to fuel his fantasy, there **will **be more killings."

It was a sombre group of law enforcement officers that rose from their seats and returned to their duties.

***

Later that evening Morgan and JJ sat in the bar of their hotel, trying to wind down after a taxing day. This was proving difficult since, as outsiders, they were under constant scrutiny from the locals coming in for a drink. They were just about to give up and have an early night when JJ's phone buzzed.

"Hello? Agent Jareau speaking."

Morgan watched as JJ's face grew taut.

"When?" he heard her ask tersely.

There was a brief pause, and then "You're sure of the details..? ... Okay... No, nothing to the press yet, I need to speak to my supervisor first... Someone will be right there."

"JJ, what is it?" demanded Morgan.

JJ looked both frustrated and sad.

"There's been another murder... definitely our killer."

Morgan rose rapidly from his chair. "Okay, let's go get Gideon and get to the scene. We can call Rossi on the way..."

JJ placed a restraining hand on Derek's arm.

"The murder is back home... only a mile from the BAU..."

The two agents looked grimly at each other. Both were wondering the same thing: was it just coincidence the killer had chosen a target so close to FBI headquarters? JJ dialled Rossi's number while Morgan headed off to wake up Gideon and begin the journey back to Quantico.

***


	11. Chapter 11

_I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did!_

*******

**Chapter 11**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia took a deep breath and pushed aside the curtain separating the patient from the rest of the ICU. Hotch lay as she had last seen him, pale and unmoving with the exception of his rib cage which was rising and falling in rhythm to the pump on the ventilator located next to his bed. It broke her heart to see him this way, seemingly so lifeless.

"Morning, Sir." she whispered, putting down her bag.

As promised, a large padded chair had been placed to the right of the bed, the left side being taken up with numerous beeping, blinking pieces of medical equipment and the IV bag.

Garcia set up her 'work station' then drew her chair closer to the bed. She gingerly picked up her boss' uninjured right hand, holding it between her two. It felt cold.

"Everyone sends their love. Agent Rossi knew all the time that you were alive... wouldn't let us give up hope. You've shown us again how strong you are, Sir... You're my knight in shining armour.

"I believe that you can hear me, although if you don't wake up soon and tell me to shut up, you're going to get very sick of my babbling. The others wish they could be here, but they've got a case and Section Chief Strauss won't let them leave until it's solved. Then they'll come; you should be awake by then..."

Penelope continued to hold Hotch's hand. She sat watching him, not knowing what else to say, simply wishing he would wake up and tell her in that deep commanding voice of his that everything would be alright. Reflecting on her time at the BAU, the Unit Chief always seemed to know what to say to her and when. She remembered the recent case of an arsonist targeting groups of locals in a small town in Indiana. Agent Hotchner had firmly pushed his technical analyst beyond her usual role and comfort zone into the creepy world of profiling. She had not enjoyed it at all and was mad at him. When Hotch showed up at her office after the case was over, Garcia had told him exactly what she thought of the experience; it had "made her brain all wonky and seriously impaired (her) ability to giggle". She remembered thinking that she had overstepped, that she had been wrong to challenge her superior and was about to be reprimanded with more than his hard stare. But instead he had surprised Penelope by thanking her, a simple and sincere expression of gratitude. And he'd shown he understood by telling her never to give up seeing the good in people. How could she stay mad at him after that?!

"You're the best boss-man ever, and one of the good guys. Now you need to get better because I don't want to work for anyone else. For one thing, they might not take me on the jet!"

Garcia checked her watch. It was almost time for her to head outside so that she could accept the call from Rossi. Placing Hotch's hand carefully back on the blanket, she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a handful of colourful toy figurines.

"I have to leave for a bit so that I can talk to Agent Rossi. But you're not alone. These little guys will keep you company. I know they're against regulation, Sir, but they helped to cheer me up in New York and since we're not in the BAU right now, I didn't think you'd mind."

She placed them on her makeshift desk facing her boss and grabbing her cell phone, left to get her instructions from the stand-in Unit Chief.

***

It was early evening by the time Garcia could resume her vigil at Hotch's bedside. She had returned to the ICU after her phone call with Rossi, but only to retrieve her bag and laptop. She needed access to the FBI databases and could only log-in via the internet so the afternoon was spent in the hotel.

Now she sat, once again holding his hand. It helped to soothe her; she hoped he would take comfort from a human touch too. Penelope almost missed the agent's telltale frown. His face was expressionless; several stitches held together a nasty-looking 2-inch cut which ran from one cheekbone downwards towards his jaw.

'_Please don't leave too much of a scar... his dimple is so cute!'_

As she watched him, her eyes were suddenly drawn to what seemed like a wet spot on his pillow. It was on Hotch's left side, so she got up to look more closely, thinking that the lighting was playing tricks on her. She put her finger on the pillow.

'_Definitely damp...'_

Garcia then peered at his face and became aware of a small amount of clear fluid seeping from under the bandage close to his left ear.

'_That's weird. I'd better tell a nurse.'_

Penelope hadn't thought too much of the fluid, but the nurse on duty immediately paged Dr. Burnstein and hurried to the patient.

"What's going on? What's wrong with him?" Garcia started to follow her.

"M'am, I'm going to have to ask you to stay in the waiting room. Dr. Burnstein will come and talk to you as soon as he can."

Heart pounding, Garcia went into the small waiting area and sat down. She wanted to call someone at the BAU, but since she didn't have any information, decided to hold off. She could hear the bustling of the medical staff and several alarms. It terrified her. What was happening to Hotch?

The technical analyst peeked out the door in time to see two doctors wheeling a cart with a large machine sitting on top of it disappear behind the curtain to the agent's bed. She sat back down, fresh tears streaming down her face. She was exhausted from the stress, from the travel; she soon cried herself to sleep still sitting upright in a chair.

A gentle hand woke Garcia some time later. It was Dr. Burnstein. She sat bolt upright.

"How's Hotch? What's wrong with him? Is he going to be okay? Can..?"

"Shh, Penelope. Although he gave us a real scare, Agent Hotchner is stable now. You saved his life, you know."

Garcia blinked.

"Me? I don't understand..."

The doctor smiled kindly.

"The fluid you saw is called 'cerebrospinal fluid'. Quite often, skull fractures can tear the thin membranes that cover the brain, leading to this fluid leaking into places where it shouldn't. It means that the bacteria can get in, and where you have bacteria, you have risk of serious infections, like meningitis. It usually presents itself 2-3weeks after injury."

Garcia looked at Matthew in horror.

"Can it be treated?! Will he be alright?!"

"We have started Aaron on a course of strong antibiotics. We've done another scan of his brain to see exactly where the fluid was going. The next few hours will be critical. At the moment, it appears that we've reacted in time, thanks to you. Fingers crossed that only the drugs will be necessary."

"But if they don't work?" She was having a hard time thinking positively.

Dr. Burnstein sighed.

"Then we have to perform surgery to remove the infected tissue." He paused. "But Penelope, there is a good chance this step won't be needed. The body is a wonderful thing; it is very adept at repairing itself. Your boss is lucky in that he sustained no damage to any of the large blood vessels in the brain. The body will repair the smaller ones, and the membranes, given the opportunity. Your swift actions gave him that chance."

Penelope smiled a little. "It's the least I could do... He's usually the one giving me the chances."

***


	12. Chapter 12

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****12**

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Rossi put down the phone and leaning his elbows on the desk put his head in his hands. Twenty minutes ago, he had waited impatiently for Garcia to answer her cell phone as had been pre-arranged. He was about to hang up when she had answered, obviously badly shaken. Gradually, Dave had been able to piece together enough of her half sentences to understand that Hotch had narrowly escaped death for a second time. He remained in the coma unaware of the infection in his brain that was still threatening his life. There had been great concern amongst his medical team overnight, but the fallen agent had stabilized by morning as the antibiotics began to take effect. It was now hoped no further action would be necessary.

Rarely did Rossi begrudge the dedication and long hours required of BAU personnel; today was different. Dave wanted nothing more than to be on a plane to Kansas to sit at his friend's bedside, leaving the team to help Gideon. He knew they could find the unsub without him. However, he also understood that they cared about Hotch as much as he did; they needed Rossi to set an example and to provide stability in the face of all the uncertainty with Hotch's condition. Besides, thought Dave, Aaron would never allow anything to get in the way of a case and would be furious to discover Rossi had come to see him when acting as Unit Chief. The older man sighed heavily and attempted to pull himself together. Morgan, JJ and Gideon were on their way back to Quantico. Prentiss and Reid had been sent to the latest crime scene and were also due back imminently. Dave would need to update them all on Hotch and then somehow return their minds immediately back to the case.

There was a knock on Rossi's door and Emily's head appeared around the corner.

"We're all back."

"Good. I'll meet you in the BAU room in 10 minutes."

Prentiss nodded and was about to shut the door when she saw something in Dave's eyes that made her pause.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Rossi smiled slightly. It was almost impossible to hide anything from this group.

"I'll meet you in 10 minutes Emily." He said softly.

She hesitated but then nodded again and left him alone to his thoughts.

Fifteen minutes later, the conference room was completely silent. Rossi had described Hotch's medical emergency, including Garcia's spotting of the CSF leaking from the injured man's ear and alerting of the ICU staff.

"Still think sending Garcia to Kansas was a bad idea?" Morgan turned to Gideon and glared at him. "She probably saved his life."

Jason said nothing. It was apparent that any discussion between Derek and himself would be on a professional level only. Morgan had barely spoken to him on the journey to Cootes Store or on the return, save to talk about the case.

Rossi sighed. This was tough. To a man, the team was distracted, all wanting to be in Kansas. They were worried about Hotch. Worried and scared. Every day that he remained in a coma, unresponsive, was a day he would never have with his son or his BAU family. The euphoria of finding out he was alive was slowly being replaced with doubt over his ultimate survival and recovery. Dave understood the team members grappling with feelings of helplessness and frustration but he needed them to focus on the matter at hand.

Morgan seemed to be taking things the hardest and was directing his irritation at Gideon. Rossi knew that Derek still respected Jason's profiling instincts but his constant outbursts were making the working atmosphere tense and difficult. Reid, on the other hand, was quietly avoiding Gideon. Dave didn't like this anymore than Morgan's temper tantrums. Perhaps it was time for a change.

"Morgan, Prentiss, when we're done here I'd like you two to interview the latest victim's wife.

"JJ, I'll need you here. Our unsub will have read the press release so I will need you to monitor the media. If he decides to make contact, we need to know about it. It is also more critical than ever to make sure all the jurisdictions are on the same page... understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Reid, Jason and I will continue to work on the profile."

Everyone nodded but their heads were down. Rossi knew he still didn't have their full attention.

"Look, I realize we're all worried about Hotch and wish we were in Kansas. But you all know as well as I do how pissed he would be to wake up and find us all by his bed when we had an open case and a killer on the loose. We can't lose focus. Let's get this guy!"

Prentiss was the first to break the ensuing silence.

"I still think we're missing something in the victimology." she volunteered.

Gideon looked at her with interest. "How so?"

"I'm not sure." she admitted. "But this guy is **too** intelligent, **too** organized, and **too** meticulous in his planning to be picking just anyone and leaving it to chance."

"But Emily, we've ruled out age, gender, occupation, socio-economic and with this latest killing, geography..." Morgan pointed out.

"And Garcia couldn't find any common denominators in any of their backgrounds..." added JJ.

They all stared at the board detailing the victims, willing a connection to surface.

"What was the Latin phrase found on the CEO?" asked Reid suddenly. His eyes were alert and he jumped up ready to write.

"Non est mea culpa. It's not my fault." Emily read from the notes.

Reid's face fell. "Oh."

Jason regarded the young genius.

"Tell us what you were thinking anyway, Dr. Reid."

"Um, okay, well all of the victims were in positions of authority. Up until the CEO, the unsub had written about power. It would have made sense that he's going after people he perceives to be 'strong' so that he can demonstrate his superiority..."

"Despite the CEO, that's good Reid!" Rossi sat up attentively. "And if true, why the shift in his scriptures? Does he mean it's not his fault or not the victim's fault?"

"His." Gideon supplied. "The unsub feels superior to everyone else. To him, being more powerful is his right. It is not his fault this was ordained. He has no remorse at killing. It is not his fault his victims were not strong enough to survive."

"You're not saying he blames the victims for their own deaths?" asked JJ incredulously.

"Not necessarily." Morgan said. "It's all about power. It's obvious the unsub is a narcissist."

Something tugged at the back of Gideon's mind; something sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned in frustration but dismissed the inkling when Prentiss spoke again.

"Why strip the bodies? The killing itself should have relieved his sexual need. If it didn't, he would have been more selective in his choice of victim. Furthermore, there wasn't any evidence of sexual assault..."

"It feeds his fantasy of power, perhaps?" suggested Rossi. "Seems like overkill, but it is certainly part of his signature."

JJ's phone buzzed and she excused herself.

Gideon shrugged. "Regardless, we're dealing with an unsub with an antisocial personality disorder. We need Garcia. Let's start with professions. Get her to see if there is anyone in a law-related or academic positions who matches our profile and who is working in the West Virginia, Maryland, and Virginia geographic area. Cootes Store is only accessible by car and since some of the killings took place during the week, the unsub's base cannot be too far away. And don't forget to tell her that he may have a juvenile record of petty crime or possible aggression towards animals."

Morgan had pulled out his phone and had Garcia on the line by the time Gideon had finished speaking.

"Hello sweetness. We could do with some of your magic..."

Derek was only halfway through his conversation when JJ re-entered the room.

"There's been another murder and it is getting even closer. This one was only two blocks from here."

***

Rossi and Gideon were admitted into the small professional building by a police officer who led them to the second floor. The gold lettering on the main door read:

'Offices of Fran Stall, Republican, area #224'

"Politician... another position of authority." muttered Rossi.

The crime scene was similar to the five previous: no obvious signs of entry, struggle by the victim, or blood. The agents knew there was little hope in finding any DNA evidence although the crime lab investigators were still dusting for prints.

The body of a young woman in her 30's lay naked on her back in the middle of the largest inner office. Donning a pair of gloves, Gideon bent down next to the corpse.

"Salva veritate." he read aloud before translating, "With truth preserved."

"His messages are getting more cryptic and his time between kills is decreasing." said Rossi who was looking at the titles of the books sitting on the large oak desk.

Gideon stood up and began a careful circuit of the room. "We angered him with our press release yesterday, calling him a coward and a weakling. Now that he's angry, we need him to get careless."

"I think we may be in luck." Rossi's sharp eyes had spotted a small shiny object buried deep in the plush carpet, partially hidden by the body. Using a glove, Dave plucked it out. A cuff-link with 'UMD' lay in his palm.

"We need to contact Garcia and regroup."

***

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Back at the BAU, the team discussed the latest developments and potential repercussions on the profile. Prentiss and Morgan's interviews with the fifth victim's family and colleagues had yielded nothing particularly new. David Brewer had seemingly kept his nose clean while moving up the business ranks. He had had a reputation for being a hard worker and a fair man with an extraordinary talent for surrounding himself with excellent staff. He had won awards for his management and treatment of personnel.

"So he fits our unsub's attraction to authority figures." Prentiss finished.

"Which still seems to be the only thing that the victims have in common." Garcia's head appeared on the screen of the laptop via a video link. "I've tried mutual friends, hobbies, education, family... ZILTCH! Why the sudden change to our creep's location anyway?"

"The press think he's trying to rub our noses in it." sighed JJ who had spent much of her time fending off a large group of journalists who had parked themselves at the entranceway to the FBI building.

"They're right." Gideon shrugged. "He gets off on power and control. What better way to feel superior than to think you're getting one over on the FBI in their own backyard."

"And we know organized killers will move around to avoid detection." Morgan reminded the group.

"So what should I tell the media?" JJ asked.

"Nothing for now." replied Rossi. "Any further coverage will just fuel his ego."

Gideon was staring at the victim board. "JJ, anything back on that cuff link yet?"

"The forensics lab didn't find any hairs or prints. I did some digging and apparently the links are only given to staff that have completed fifteen years of service for the University or have won a prestigious award."

"Garcia, search..." began Rossi.

"Already on it, Sir."

"Something is still bothering me..." Prentiss was looking at the crime scene photos and frowning.

"What is it?" Dave asked her.

As the newest member of the team, Emily hadn't always felt confident about voicing her concerns to the rest. However, over the past months, she had proven to have an uncanny knack to see things the others didn't. Hotch had noticed this and subtly encouraged her to speak her mind. Dave felt a pang of sadness. What would Hotch be saying if he were here now to make the most of Prentiss' skill?

"The unsub's signature. Here we have an extremely intelligent, organized man. He is meticulous in ensuring a clean crime scene. The victims are found face up, naked and with a Latin phrase on their chest..."

"Keep going Emily." Dave couldn't yet see where this was leading but he trusted the dark-haired agent.

"Why deface the bodies? Why not write the Latin on paper and leave at the scene? It just seems to run against his controlled, neat personality. It's... it's messy."

Gideon rested a hand on his forehead, thinking hard. Prentiss was right. But...

"Actually, it isn't messy." He said at length. "The unsub **could** have used blood or paint. He **could** have splashed the Latin on the walls or floor of the crime scenes. But he did not. Look at his writing too... or printing, to be precise. He was in no hurry. He took great care with each and every letter."

Prentiss nodded in understanding. "Okay. So by writing on the body, he had more direct contact with the victim, fuelling his fantasy."

"Yes."

Garcia appeared on the webcam once again.

"So crime fighters, my unearthly powers have yielded a potential scumbag list of 8... 5 if you go with the idea that the cuff link belongs to our jerk-du-jour. I'm sending through the info now."

"Thanks Baby Doll." Morgan grinned at her before quickly printing off copies.

"Let's assume the cuff link **was** the unsub's first mistake." Gideon pushed the sheets detailing three lawyers off to one side and picked up the remaining documentation.

"Looks like we have 2 Law professors and 3 in Criminology." remarked Reid, as usual speed-reading through the details. "One of the law professors, a Dr. Kendell, was fostered from the time he was a baby and had numerous run-ins with the local police."

Prentiss flipped to the same page. "He was obviously bright since he won a scholarship to Harvard and graduated summa cum laude... Huh, guess you **can** learn something from petty theft."

"We'll need to interview him." Rossi said. "Who's next?"

"Cross off the other law professor." said Morgan. "He's out of the country on sabbatical."

"Okay, that takes us to the criminologists:" stated Gideon, "Doctors Hall, Frenz and Jacobs."

"Hall doesn't fit the profile." Dave discarded the page and began reading the next.

"Dr. Erik Frenz sounds like he could be interesting..." said Gideon. "No sign of the mother; was raised by his father, who was arrested for drug possession on numerous occasions. William had poor attendance at school and also has a juvenile record for illicit drug possession."

"Aw, how cute. Like father like son." Prentiss said dryly.

There were smiles round the table.

"That's good enough to earn him an interview." grunted Rossi. "Alright, what does our Dr. Ian Jacobs have to offer..?"

"He appears to be brilliant." remarked Reid. "He too comes from a single parent family, but he has no police record."

"No, but his school files report truancy, ADHD and describe him as 'a self-centred boy who thinks that he is above the rules.'" observed JJ.

"We could say that about a lot of kids." Gideon stated. "But it is worth following up on."

Rossi shut his folder of information and rose from his chair.

"Okay, let's get moving; seems like we have a road trip to Maryland. Prentiss, you and Jason take Frenz, Morgan and Reid can question Jacobs and I'll pay Dr. Kendell a visit. JJ, please continue to monitor all the media outlets. Garcia, go and sit with Hotch. We'll get word to the hospital when we need you again."

He surveyed the team as they gathered up their things. Each looked determined and focussed but he thought a last pep talk would do no harm.

"Let's get this guy so that no more people die and we can get out to Hotch."

***


	13. Chapter 13

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****13**

**UNIVERSITY OF M****ARYLAND, MD.**

Agent Rossi knew that Professor Daniel Kendell was not their unsub seconds after being ushered into the academic's office. Dave had stuck out his hand in introduction and although Kendell had taken it, he had been clearly uncomfortable in touching someone else. His additional body language was enough to tell Rossi it wasn't an act.

'_If this were our guy, he would have chosen a different MO.'_

However, Rossi conducted the interview anyway. What he discovered was that Kendell was a narcissist with some sociopathic tendencies. He had poor social skills and was a definite creep, but of course this did not make him a serial killer. Moreover, as the agent noticed on his way out, the professor had both cuff-links on his shirt.

'_Strike one...' _he thought getting back into the SUV and turning the ignition key.

***

Dr. Erik Frenz obviously thought very highly of himself. His office was decorated with plush furnishings and immaculate. As he led Gideon and Prentiss to visitors chairs, he went out of his way to show off various academic degrees and awards although they were already prominently displayed. It took little encouragement for Prentiss to get him to discuss his achievements in great detail.

"I decided a second major in Latin would prove useful should ever I become bored with Academia and go into Law. I graduated second in my class..."

Emily cut in. "And do you keep up with it? Surely you must get rusty if you don't practice."

Frenz looked pityingly at her. "My dear agent, I have an exquisite memory. No 'practice' required although I enjoy reading books written in Latin from time to time."

Gideon chose to use flattery. "You look too young to have earned the famous UofM cuff links, Professor."

"Cuff-links? Oh yes! I am the youngest faculty member in University of Maryland history to have ever been awarded the links. I presented a paper on 'devolution of serial killers' at a conference in Bern, Switzerland which knotted me their 'Young Investigator Award'."

Gideon leaned back in his chair and said casually,

"I see that you're not wearing them, Professor. Such a prestigious memento, I'm surprised."

Frenz shrugged.

"I've had a very successful career, Agent Gideon. If I were to display **all** of my awards, my colleagues would think me a braggart."

Inwardly, Prentiss rolled her eyes. "But you still have them?" she pressed.

"Certainly. But why all the interest in my cuff-links?" asked the Criminologist, bemused.

"Dr. Frenz-?" Gideon began, ignoring the question, but he was interrupted by the telephone.

The professor frowned and picked up the receiver, smiling apologetically at his guests.

"Hello, Dr. Erik Frenz."

Both agents made a pretence of looking around the room, but kept their ears open. It soon became clear that whoever the professor was speaking to was upset.

"I'm sorry Robert, I truly am, but I DID warn you that your results were insufficient to support your outlandish conclusions. Are you really surprised the journal rejected the paper?"

A pause.

"I cannot divulge the reviewers' identities, you know that. Perhaps if you produced higher quality research, you would have been the one invited to be an editor."

Frenz had crossed his legs and was smoothing down a starched suit pant-leg. Suddenly he sat upright in his chair. His entire demeanour had changed. His eyes flashed with anger and he virtually spat into the phone.

"Now you listen to me, Robert. I will not be threatened. You have no proof and if you decide to take your fairy tale to the Dean, I will be forced to sue. Do we understand each other?!"

And with that, he slammed down the phone and putting his fingertips together, smiled sweetly at the agents.

"I'm sorry about the interruption. Where were we? Oh yes, cuff links... But I'm confused... I was under the impression that I was consulting with the FBI on a serial killer matter."

Gideon smiled slightly.

"And you are." He said soothingly. "Do you know anything about crime scene forensics?"

"Of course I do!" snapped Frenz. "I'm sure you know already that that is my specialty! Now what is going on?!"

"Dr. Frenz, have you read about the recent murders in Cootes Store?" Gideon inquired pleasantly.

The professor visibly relaxed. "Yes. With two more near the FBI, I believe."

"I'd like to show you a photo of one of the crime scenes, if you don't mind. We'd like your interpretation." Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture of Sarah Thompson, the high-school principal.

Dr. Frenz took the photo. He showed no sign of emotion as he examined it closely.

"A very tidy scene." He remarked. "Your killer planned this well in advance."

He looked up at the two agents.

"I'm assuming there was no DNA or other physical evidence found?"

"Why do you say that?" asked Gideon.

"Statistically-speaking, research has shown that neat, organized killers are much less likely to make mistakes and leave incriminating evidence behind. I'm playing the odds you might say. Am I correct?"

There was a smugness in his tone that annoyed Prentiss. She was about to say something but stopped at a look from Gideon.

Completely ignoring the professor's question Jason changed track, re-pocketing the photograph.

"We suspect that the unsub works in a profession such as yours, Professor. Do you have any colleagues who are capable or who would have reason to commit murder?"

"We are all capable of committing hideous crimes, given the right conditions." replied Dr. Frenz nonchalantly and shrugging. "But none of my colleagues would be bright enough to create a crime scene such as the one you showed me. Even the Dean is an idiot."

"Thank you for your time." Gideon rose and shook hands with the Academic.

He and Prentiss were almost at the door when Jason appeared to have something occur to him.

"Oh, one more question Dr. Frenz."

The professor raised an eyebrow.

"Ever been to the Shenandoah's?"

"Good day Agents."

And with that, Dr. Frenz bent his head and returned to work.

"Touchy fellow wasn't he?" commented Prentiss as they walked back to the SUV.

Gideon was too deep in thought to reply.

***

Agents Morgan and Reid waited patiently in the corridor outside Dr. Jacobs' office. He had a student with him but would be available shortly, he had told them politely after opening the door to their knock. The Professor was true to his word and five minutes later they were all seated. The large office was tastefully decorated and tidy, the desk missing the mountains of paperwork so often associated with academics.

"You could learn something from him, Genius." teased Morgan.

Reid glared at Morgan but said nothing.

Dr. Jacobs settled himself behind his desk and smiled at his visitors.

"How can I be of assistance? Is this about all the recent murders in the Mountains?"

Morgan nodded. "We're in need of some background information."

The professor leaned forward. "Of course, anything for the FBI. Ask away."

"Professor, tell us about the cuff link tradition. We understand you are a recipient?" said Reid.

"Ah yes, the 'links' as they're called. Well, the University awards a set of cuff-links to any male staff member who completes 15 years of service or, as was in my case, wins a prestigious prize off-campus. Women are given a necklace, I believe."

"And how many people in your department have been granted the links?" asked Morgan.

Dr. Jacobs closed his eyes, pondering the question.

"Five colleagues and the Dean."

"Would you write down their names?" Reid dug a notepad out of his bag and handed it to the academic.

The professor reached for a fountain pen, dipped it a small ink bottle on his desk and wrote out the list, handing it back to Reid.

"Does everyone in the department get along?" Morgan asked.

Ian Jacobs laughed. "I can see that you're not accustomed to the academic environment, Agent Morgan. This University has the highest ranked Criminology program in not just the State, but the whole of North America. In order to be that good, you require the best and the brightest staff, which we all are. But we all have egos too, I'm afraid, and professional jealousy is common.

"However," he continued, "this does not get in the way of our teaching. The students always come first."

"How does the jealousy manifest itself?" Reid asked.

"Oh, just the usual grumblings and battles over tenure. There was some internal discord recently when the new Dean was hired. I think many colleagues thought it would be one of them, but the Chancellor hired an external candidate. It all blew over quickly."

Reid prodded, "Is the Dean as good as anticipated?"

Jacobs face darkened slightly but he smiled as he shrugged his shoulders. "Let's just say I'm glad that I wasn't the one who hired him."

"Non est mea culpa." mumbled Reid.

The professor laughed delightedly. "Precisely Agent! It certainly is not my fault!"

Morgan rose from his chair and extended his hand. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Jacobs."

"A pleasure. You BAU people do a marvellous job; I'm sure that you will catch your killer soon."

Derek smiled grimly and nodded. "We usually do."

***

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Returning from the University, the team gathered to discuss their findings. Dr. Hall was eliminated from the suspect list and consideration turned to Drs. Frenz and Jacobs.

"Frenz was certainly capable physically." noted Prentiss. "Young and quite an athletic build."

"Good looking?" Morgan grinned mischievously at her.

Emily rolled her eyes at him. "Sure, minus the head that was stuck so far up his butt..."

"Focus please!" said Rossi in an unintentional yet perfect imitation of Hotch.

It caught the group's attention immediately.

"Any news on boss-man?" asked Morgan.

"No change." was Dave's quick reply. He didn't want them getting off-track. "Now, tell us about Dr. Frenz."

Jason leaned back in his chair. "He fits the profile perfectly. In addition to his background, he is an extreme narcissist. He went to great lengths to let us know how important and brilliant he is. His office is a shrine to himself and he emanates condescension. He holds a second degree in Latin. He had no problem looking at the crime scene photo, and holds the opinion that anyone is capable of murder like it is a commonly-held belief."

"And despite his best efforts to hide it, Frenz has a temper." Prentiss added. "He was quite patronizing to a colleague on the phone but that quickly turned to anger."

"Mmm." said Dave pensively looking at the notes he had just written. "Okay, we need a trigger. If he's our guy, what set him off? And we'll need something more substantial to get a warrant to search his house..."

"Baby Doll, this is where you come in!" Morgan directed his comment at the conference room's computer which had been video linked to Garcia's hotel room in Kansas. "Find us something so we can finish this."

"The Oracle of Quantico will find the evil doctor's dirt, never fear."

"And Garcia, see if you can find a recent picture of Dr. Frenz and send it to JJ." instructed Gideon. "Cootes Store is a very small town. Someone may have seen him."

"Yes Sir. Garcia out."

***

The break the team needed came the following day and in two parts. The first was through a telephone conversation between Morgan and Garcia.

"So my Prince I have outdone myself this time. You will marvel in my..."

"You know I love you, Doll-face, but we're in a hurry..."

There was a loud sigh on the other end of the line. "Okay, so the ridiculously successful professor hasn't always had it his own way."

"Garcia, don't toy with me..." Morgan growled.

"You really are no fun. But I'll be nice... this time. So guess who applied to the FBI Academy but didn't get accepted?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope. Failed the psych evaluation."

"Gideon or Rossi conduct it? That might explain the kills close to the BAU..."

"No, it wasn't anyone I recognized: an Agent Patterson."

"Thanks Baby Girl, you're the best."

"I know... But you're welcome."

Just as Morgan was hanging up with Garcia, JJ burst through the doors to the bullpen.

"We've got a positive ID!" she exclaimed, hurrying up the stairs towards Rossi's office.

Morgan, Prentiss and Reid followed her.

JJ knocked briefly on David's door and walked in.

"Sir, we've got a match to Frenz!"

Rossi and Gideon looked up from their morning cups of coffee.

"Both the owner of the local gas station and a waitress in a near-by diner swear that they've seen Frenz around town AND on more than one occasion."

Dave was already reaching for the phone.

"JJ, have Garcia run Frenz's credit card numbers against the gas station and cross-check the dates with those of the murders..."

JJ grinned and handed him a sheet of paper. "Already done."

Rossi smiled. "Good work. This should be enough to get a warrant."

"That and the fact that Frenz flunked his Academy psych admission test..." Morgan inserted casually.

The two older agents looked at him in surprise.

"Well, we've got our trigger." Jason commented blandly. "Out of curiosity..."

Morgan was already shaking his head. "The interviewing agent was named Patterson."

"Ah."

Rossi put down the phone where he had been talking to the DA's office.

"We're good to go; the warrant is being faxed over. Morgan, Prentiss, Jason, you're with me. Reid, I want you, JJ and Garcia to keep digging. We're going to need every scrap of information on this guy if we expect to get a confession... and I hope your Latin is up to date!"

***


	14. Chapter 14

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter 14**

**BALTIMORE, MD.**

There was no answer to Rossi's polite knock on the door of #249 Canyon Drive. The two-story brick house was in an affluent district of the city. It and the surrounding homes were large, most with three-car garages and perfectly manicured lawns. It seemed to fit the facade that Frenz was trying to portray: one of intellectual and financial superiority. Dave shuddered at the almost surreal, cookie-cutter perfection of the neighbourhood.

The agents dressed in flak jackets, un-holstered their weapons.

"FBI, open up!" shouted Morgan, rapidly losing patience.

Still no answer.

At a nod from Rossi, Morgan stepped back then drove his foot through the front door. It burst open under the pressure and Derek entered, gun held out in front of him, sweeping it from side to side. One by one the others followed. They were greeted by a large tiled hallway. A set or ornate stairs led up to the upper floor. Large doorways flanked the hallway and led to a study and living-room. The hallway itself ended at the kitchen, where another door was visible. Rossi and Gideon headed upstairs while Prentiss followed Morgan to investigate the ground floor and basement.

"Clear!" called Prentiss from the back of the house.

"Clear!" came the muffled voice of Morgan from the basement.

"Clear here too." said Rossi, emerging from a second floor bedroom and putting his gun away. "Okay, let's get to work. Prentiss, Morgan you take the main floor, Jason and I will stay upstairs. We'll work the basement together."

"Notice anything right off the bat?" asked Rossi as he and Gideon went through desk drawers in a make-shift office.

"He's very neat for a bachelor. His office at the University was the same. Books shelved in alphabetical order; definitely some obsessive behaviour."

Dave sighed. "It's nothing out of the ordinary given his specialty. Why don't you take the filing cabinet and I'll start on the bedroom."

Gideon nodded. The filing cabinet was as he expected. Neat, tidy, organized. He went directly to the folder labelled 'Receipts' and was surprised to find numerous gas receipts from Cootes Store. He removed them and replaced the file. Finishing the cabinet's inspection, he headed to the bedroom where Rossi was triumphantly holding a pair of latex gloves with a handkerchief.

"Where were they?" asked Jason.

"Taped to the top of his sock drawer." replied Rossi, putting them into an evidence bag. "Any luck with the files?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I found at least a half dozen gas receipts from Cootes Store, dating back to a month before the first murder."

"So what's bugging you?" Dave had noticed Gideon's frown and less than enthusiastic tone.

"Up until you found those gloves, it was too easy. Our unsub is highly calculated and organized. He wouldn't let evidence be so easily found by looking it up in a filing cabinet."

Rossi nodded. "But Frenz is so arrogant he may have figured that nobody would get to the point of searching his home."

"True."

"And he is definitely hiding something. Why attempt to hide gloves in a drawer, otherwise?" Dave started down the stairs. "I'd like to know what his connection is to Cootes Sto-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud shout from Morgan.

"Rossi, Gideon, we've got him!"

The older agents descended the stairs to find Prentiss in the study, looking rather pleased, holding several newspaper articles in her hand.

"These were hidden in one of his photo albums." She said pointing to a bookcase. "They're all of the articles that have been written about the murders, including our press release."

"AND this was in a mug in the kitchen." Derek held out his palm. On it sat a single cuff-link bearing the now-familiar UMD initials. "There was just the one." He said meaningfully.

Jason started walking to the front door.

"Ok, we've got what we came for. Let's bring him in before he realizes that we're on to him."

***

**FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Erik Frenz looked remarkably composed in spite of the drab surroundings of the interrogation room. If anything, he seemed bored. The team watched from behind the one-way glass window. Jason stood with his hands on his hips.

"He's supremely confident." he remarked. "No remorse whatsoever."

Rossi glanced at Morgan. "It's time."

Derek nodded and entered the room. He turned a chair so that upon sitting, he could lean his forearms on its backrest. He studied the man opposite him, who although outwardly calm, was tense and seething with anger under the surface. Morgan knew it wouldn't be hard to push his buttons, but getting a confession was going to be difficult. He was relieved they had found physical evidence.

"You won't intimidate me by flexing your muscles on a chair, Agent." said the professor, sounding bored.

Morgan said nothing.

"You've got the wrong man." Frenz's tone was friendly but his eyes reflected his hostility.

"Have we." Morgan did not phrase it as a question.

He continued to stare at the suspect. Unflinchingly, Frenz stared back.

Without breaking eye contact, Morgan asked "Why didn't you tell us about your visits to Cootes Store?"

"They were none of your business and therefore, irrelevant. You were asking MY opinion on the case, as I recall."

"Okay, but it's my business now. What were you doing in Cootes Store?"

The professor stiffened. "Visiting a friend."

"What friend?"

Frenz shook his head.

"We'll find out anyway."

"Be my guest, but you won't hear it from me."

Morgan pushed a sheet of paper across the table separating the two men.

"Where were you on these dates?"

The suspect sighed. "Without my day-timer, I am useless. Teaching, probably."

"Nope. We checked. You had no scheduled classes, tutorials or office hours. Care to try again?"

Dr. Frenz glanced at the paper. "If I wasn't teaching then I was writing... and before you ask, no, I do not write at the University. It is impossible to concentrate there so I would have been at home."

"Anyone see you?"

The professor glared at Morgan. "Stupid questions do not become you, Agent Morgan."

Unmoved, Derek changed track.

"It must have really upset you when you didn't get the Deanship." he remarked casually.

Not biting, the professor shrugged.

"I'd describe it as mild disappointment. I couldn't expect anything else given the stupidity of the committee."

Suddenly the door opened and Rossi entered the room.

"Professor Frenz, I'm SSA David Rossi, Unit Chief of the BAU."

He watched the professor's reaction carefully. Sure enough, he caught the subtle change in body language; his hands curled into fists under the table.

'_He sure doesn't like authority. Let's push those buttons a little.'_

Standing over the academic, Dave said in a neutral voice,

"Tell me Dr. Frenz, does the department know that one of their professors has a police record?"

Frenz's eyes narrowed.

"That was a long time ago... I was just a boy."

"Makes it a little hard to get into the FBI Academy." Dave said conversationally.

The professor shot him a dark look.

"If you think you have something, arrest me, otherwise I've had enough."

Morgan slammed a hand down on the table as he had seen Hotch do on many occasions.

"I've had enough too! So here's what I think. I think that you're a narcissistic sociopath who gets off on power and control. You can't stand authority so you try to eliminate it. When you didn't get the Dean-ship, you couldn't deal with it and started killing. You chose strangulation so that you could literally have the power of life and death in your hands. The Latin was to show off how bright you think you are. But that wasn't enough... you had to kill close to us as revenge for our rejection of you..."

Dr. Frenz actually started laughing.

"That's what you all think? Circumstantial at best, gentlemen. I must say, I'm very disappointed in the FBI if this is the best you can do."

"I repeat, what is your relationship to the town of Cootes Store?"

Silence.

"And why the suffocation ritual if you were just going to strangle them anyway?"

More silence.

Morgan exploded again, "You had motive, opportunity and know-how. We've got the physical evidence we need to link it all back to you so you may as well just tell us and quit wasting our time!"

Through gritted teeth, the professor regarded both agents with renewed hostility.

"I'm not saying another word until I have my lawyer present."

***


	15. Chapter 15

_For my fellow Hotch fans; sorry to keep you waiting, I missed him too!_

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter 15**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

Penelope Garcia kicked off her shoes and settled into the visitor chair next to her boss. It was early evening and she had had a long couple of days helping the profilers to come up with the suspect list and providing enough information to support an arrest. As a result, Dr. Frenz was now behind bars awaiting trial although still protesting his innocence. Gideon had apparently returned to his cabin in the mountains and the case was considered closed.

Garcia stifled a yawn. She had felt exhausted but had gotten her second wind when Rossi had called to say the team was on its way along with Sean Hotchner.

"Reinforcements are coming, Sir." she said smiling, picking up Hotch's hand and squeezing it gently.

"Your brother and the whole team will be here tomorrow so you should start to think about waking up now."

She watched the respiration pump move slowly up and down, Hotch's rib cage rising and falling in response. At least the antibiotics seemed to have worked; the doctors were confident that his infection was clearing. Aside from this, there was no change in the agent's condition.

Sighing, Penelope took out a book and, still holding Hotch's hand, began to read.

She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew, the room was dark and her book had slid onto the floor. Reaching forward to pick it up, she was startled by a soft moan. She forgot the book in an instant.

"Oh my god!!!"

Garcia watched the patient's face intently, willing him to make another sound, to move, anything to show he was no longer comatose.

"Come on Hotch, you can do it! Please... please wake up."

Was that a slight roll of the head or was she imagining it? The technical analyst gripped her boss' hand more tightly.

"Sir, if you can hear me please squeeze my hand."

No response. Only the sound of the ventilator filled the room. Penelope realized that she had been holding her breath. She exhaled, not taking her eyes off of Hotch. There it was again! This time there could be no mistaking it. Hotch's eyebrows had knitted together briefly and his head had turned very slightly in her direction.

Tears of relief began forming in Garcia's eyes.

"Keep fighting, boss-man. You're doing great! Stay strong while I go to get the doctor."

She dashed out to the nurses' station.

"I think he's waking up!" she exclaimed excitedly.

The nurse followed her back behind the curtain where Hotch lay, once again motionless.

"I swear his head moved and he moaned." said Garcia, looking imploringly at the nurse.

The nurse smiled.

"I believe you. Coma patients do not wake up all at once. It will take awhile before Mr. Hotchner regains full consciousness, but these are good signs. Dr. Burnstein is off duty right now, but I'll leave a note for him; he's due on shift first thing in the morning."

Garcia returned to her chair as the nurse left and picked up Hotch's hand and her book.

"Sir, I'm going to read to you for a little while. I hope you like romance cuz here we go... 'Meredith felt like she was walking on air after Jake left her apartment'..."

***

As the BAU jet touched down in Kansas early the following morning, Agent David Rossi fidgeted with the charm bracelet he carried in his pocket. He was relieved that Section Chief Strauss had given permission for the team to take leave together without a battle. In fact, it had been her idea to take the jet.

'_Maybe she does have a heart after all.'_ he thought.

He looked around at the others. JJ and Reid were sleeping. Morgan had his headphones on and was drumming quietly to the music. Prentiss was staring out of a window. Gideon had not come. He had given Rossi an envelope to give to Hotch but that was it. Dave hadn't been impressed but was more concerned about getting to his fallen friend than arguing so had pocketed the letter without comment.

The team disembarked and piled into a shuttle bus which took them directly to the hotel. To kill some time before visiting hours at 10am, they sat down to breakfast. Garcia had, of course, told them about Hotch's movement the previous evening and it had put them in a much more positive frame of mind.

"The Head Surgeon will meet with us right at 10." said Garcia after they had finished eating. She was relieved to be handing responsibility over to Rossi until Sean arrived later that day.

"Good." Rossi put down his coffee cup and checked his watch. "Okay, let's go and see what he has to say."

***

Dr. Burnstein met the team in the small ICU waiting room. After introductions were made and everyone had seated themselves, the doctor began to update the group.

"Let's start with the least complicated injuries... As you will be able to see for yourselves, the various lacerations and bruises are healing well, as are all of the broken bones. Mr. Hotchner's internal injuries are progressing nicely too. His blood work has steadily improved and there no longer seems to be any additional strain on his heart or lungs."

He surveyed his audience. Each member of the FBI was unsmiling, braced for whatever followed. They all knew Hotch's fractured skull was the most serious. The doctor pulled out a diagram of the human brain.

"I'm sure that Penelope has kept you informed regarding Aaron's head injury."

He pointed to the left middle aspect of the brain, which happened to be shaded in blue.

"This area of the brain is called the Temporal Lobe. Its functions are auditory, some language and memory; these are the possible things that may have been impaired by the fracture and subsequent swelling."

There was silence as the team digested the information.

"How bad is the damage and what are the chances for recovery?" asked Morgan anxiously, his fists clenched.

Dr. Burnstein regarded him kindly.

"The actual skull fracture wasn't as bad as it could have been. The skull stayed intact. However, there was a fair amount of swelling and until it lessens it is difficult to ascertain any damage to the brain itself. The best way to gauge this is through various neurological assessments once Aaron regains consciousness. And until we know the extent of any impairment, we cannot talk about recovery."

Prentiss put her head in her hands and Morgan slammed a fist on the wall in frustration. Garcia and JJ held hands. Reid looked awkwardly at his colleagues, unsure of what to say or do. Rossi took a deep breath,

"Doctor, what should we be prepared for when Hotch comes to?"

"Given the location of the fracture, Mr. Hotchner may have some problem with his hearing, such as ringing in the ears. The language centre is responsible for communication, so he may have difficulty with understanding and/or producing spoken or written language..."

The agents were stunned. For some reason they had all assumed that once Hotch regained consciousness, the worst would be over and he would eventually resume his job as BAU Chief. But there was now the possibility that he may be permanently incapacitated and unable to work at all. Rossi coughed to hide the fact that he was getting emotional.

"Please go on. We need to know."

"Some degree of memory loss is common..."

"Yes, 20-79% of people with closed head trauma experience some degree of amnesia." Reid supplied.

"Indeed." said Dr. Burnstein.

Morgan glared at Reid. He didn't want to hear statistics.

"And patients with temporal lobe injuries can have emotional and behavioural symptoms such as depression, irritability and aggression just to name a few."

Prentiss shook her head.

"That's not Hotch at all." she said firmly.

The doctor gave her a quick smile.

"Look, Aaron may have some or none of these complications. And even if he does experience symptoms, we do not yet know the severity. We also have the best neurological staff in the country so don't write off full recovery, regardless."

The attempted encouragement fell on deaf ears. Matthew tried again.

"It is much too early to tell, and speculating will not help anyone. Please try to remain optimistic. This is especially important around Mr. Hotchner. He needs your strength and an upbeat presence. That is the best way to help him right now."

This seemed to rally the group. Morgan began to make his way towards the door.

"I'd really like to see Hotch."

Dr. Burnstein nodded approvingly. "Good, right this way." He turned to the others. "I'm sorry, but I can only let one person visit at a time..."

Rossi waved his hand dismissively. "Understood. We'll take turns. Go ahead Derek."

When the doctor and Morgan had left, JJ turned to Reid.

"Spence, what do you know about comas? Why hasn't Hotch woken up completely after last night?"

Reid looked at her sympathetically. He could see that she was frightened and he wanted to reassure her.

"Comas aren't like most people think." He said. "Patients often don't lie totally still and its pretty common for them to make noises or movements that would normally be associated with consciousness. But the fact Hotch has gone from nothing to something is a really good sign, Jay.

"Furthermore, technically a coma has two different aspects. 'Reactivity' describes the inborn brain functions like responses to pain; a reflex. The second is 'Perceptivity' and refers to nervous system responses to learned stimuli. For example, gestures, language or communication skills. Both have to be present for a medical team to say that someone is 'conscious'."

"So Hotch is becoming aware from a reactive point of view only?"

Reid nodded. "Right now, yes. But his awareness will increase gradually and he'll get better at responding. We just have to be patient; when he does wake up, it won't be for long at first..."

"As long as I can see his eyes open, I'll feel a lot better." murmured Prentiss.

"Amen to that." said Rossi, once again fingering his charm bracelet.

***

Nothing could have prepared Morgan for the sight of his supervisor. Like Garcia, it shook him greatly to see Hotch lying so still and requiring the ventilator, but he quickly regained his composure and made his way to the bedside.

"Hotch? It's Morgan. You remember me, don't you... the perpetual pain in your ass?"

He tried to sound more cheerful than he felt.

"Man, you gotta come back to us and soon! We need you..."

Derek watched the ventilator pump and listened the steady beeping of the ECG. His eyes moved over his boss' prone form, taking in every wound, every bandage. He shook his head in sadness and despair.

"Hotch, I need to be straight with you... I've never taken the time to thank you..." he felt himself choking up so he took a deep breath before ploughing on,

"You have never been anything but fair and honest with me. I know I call you a drill sergeant, but I DO respect you... as a profiler, as my boss and as a man.

"You once told me that you trusted me with your life. Hotch, I need you to know..."

Morgan fought back tears and picked up his colleague's hand.

"...that I've never had so great a complement... And... And despite what you think, I **do** trust you too. You've never used my past against me and you've saved my ass so many times I can't count them all... Please man... Please come back. We care about you...

His voice dropped to a whisper,

"I care about you."

Morgan sat in silence for several minutes. He wished he was on surer footing with his faith but it still seemed day to day. He continued to struggle to reconcile the fact that such horrible things could happen to good men while there seemed no punishment sufficient enough for criminal scum. Nevertheless, he raised his eyes to the ceiling and still holding Hotch's hand, muttered a quick prayer.

He was just about to return the hand to the bed and leave to get the next BAU visitor when he felt a slight pressure on his palm.

"Hotch?! Hotch, can you hear me?! Squeeze again!"

No doubt about it, Derek could see the tips of Hotch's fingers curl.

"Hey! Nurse?! Doc?! Someone! He's waking up!" Morgan shouted loudly, keeping his attention focussed on the patient. He leaned forward and pleaded,

"Come on, open your eyes!"

For a moment there was no response, save for the continued pressure of the patient's fingers around the younger agent's hand. Then Morgan heard a soft groan.

"You're almost there! Now open your eyes! Dammit Hotch, look at me!"

Slowly, agonizingly, Aaron seemed to respond. His face contorted in pain, his eyelids flickered several times but finally his eyes fully opened.

Derek was jubilant. He squeezed his supervisor's hand harder.

"I knew you could do it! You're gonna be okay, boss."

The injured man's eyes, which had been looking straight ahead, shifted and eventually came to rest on Morgan. Derek could tell that he had been recognized; he grinned.

"Could you have asked for a prettier face to wake up to?"

To his extreme surprise and relief, Morgan saw a slight upward twitch at the sides of Hotch's mouth in spite of the large intubation tube.

'_He smiled; he understood me!'_

"Man, don't you go anywhere; I'm going to get the rest of the team!"

***

By the time Sean Hotchner arrived in Topeka later that evening, his brother's condition had been upgraded from 'extremely critical' to 'critical'. It was considered a major victory by the medical team. After his initial response, Hotch had drifted in and out of semi-consciousness several times during the afternoon. As Reid had forewarned, his period of wakefulness was very short (less than a minute) and he wasn't fully alert but everyone was buoyed by his visual recognition of each team member and seeming understanding of what they said to him.

"The doctor says that if Aaron continues this rate of improvement, he may be off the ventilator in a couple of days." Rossi told Sean as they made their way to the ICU ward.

Sean merely nodded. The younger of the Hotchner siblings, he was very unlike his brother. He had blond hair, blue eyes and lacked the control over his emotions that Aaron possessed.

"But how screwed up is he going to be with a skull fracture..?" Sean had stopped at the curtain and turned to face Rossi. "I don't know if I can do this..."

Dave regarded the blond man sternly.

"You don't have a choice." He informed him flatly. "Your brother needs you; needs your strength and support. We don't know what sort of brain damage, permanent or temporary, he has yet but it doesn't matter. This man miraculously survived a plane crash and managed to put himself in a position where someone could find and help him. Now it's our turn to do exactly that!"

Sean's eyes hardened and he looked away. He was ashamed at his selfishness but didn't want a lecture from a stranger. He was so accustomed to Aaron looking out for him, even when it was undesired, that he couldn't imagine the roles being reversed. But Agent Rossi was right. His sibling was alive and that was really all that mattered. He took a deep breath and started to move the curtain but Dave put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Sean." He said in a gentler tone. "Try to think positively. When he was awake, Aaron recognized all of us and seemed to comprehend what we were saying. That means he can hear and at least to a certain degree, understand language. The doctors are very hopeful.

"Dr. Burnstein has arranged for the Chief Neurologist to come and see your brother once the ventilator has been removed. He really is in the best hands here... you have to believe that... for your sake but especially for Aaron's. And remember, only good vibes in his presence."

The younger Hotchner nodded again and dutifully attempted to paste a smile on his face as he pulled back the curtain and looked upon the injured man whom, in spite of their turbulent relationship, he loved dearly.

***


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: I was going for a mix of subtle and "ewww"; please let me know how I did._

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter 16**

**BALTIMORE, MD.**

He sat naked and alone with a glass of fine scotch in one hand, his other caressing a scrapbook which lay on his knees. His wife was out of town on business so he could celebrate in peace. It had been a wonderful couple of weeks. Lost pride had been found. He had underestimated the feelings of satisfaction from the kills and from his album. He felt triumphant. He no longer felt the need to kill. He had shown HIM at last... and here was the proof. He took a sip of the fiery brown liquid. Delicious.

Setting down the glass he opened the book and began to re-read the newspaper clippings. They were all about him and his master plan in action. The 'Emperor' they called him, after the first Latin scripture was released to the media. Each article was carefully preserved behind the cellophane, together with the photos. Of all his achievements in life, this ranked as the best. He knew that he deserved the fame and glory, it was his entitlement. He had worked so tirelessly...

There had only been one problem. That press release. He felt himself tense with anger. HE must have authorized it. Who else would dare to call him a coward, a weakling?! But then he relaxed. He reminded himself it was just more proof they had gotten it wrong. He wasn't after power. He didn't care about control. They were fools.

He flipped to the photographs, his favourite part of the memories. He was getting excited simply at the thought of them. He began to look lovingly at the pictures and felt himself go hard as he slowly caressed each page. His climax and release came with the sight of the politician, the latest. Yes, he had been careless with her. But that had been quickly rectified. He would not err again.

Groaning in pleasure, he closed the book and chuckled to himself. HE had been wrong. Wrong all those years ago and delightfully wrong again. If only HE had listened back then HE would have known better; would have understood where guilt really lay.

There were so many things of which he was proud. Just as his mother had told him, he really was the smartest; he'd been right all along. He was superior. They had yet to figure out the significance of the nudity, the dual MO, the writing. This made him laugh out loud. Their minds were so closed, so blinkered. He wished he could listen to them talk about him, their theories, their profile; all incorrect. HE hadn't even figured out the geographical symbolism. Disappointing.

Smiling, he put the album back into its hiding place, turned off the table lamp and looking forward to reliving it all in his dreams, went to bed.

***

Finally the weekend arrived. He loved the mornings; they meant larger editions of the newspaper. And the court date for the accused had been Friday. Now would be his moment of triumph. HE would be shown to have failed!

He set the newspaper carefully on the sofa while he went to make his coffee. Humming to himself, he wondered what the bosses at the FBI would do to HIM. At worst, a public apology to the accused would certainly be called for. His own hopes were for HIM to provide a grovelling explanation and submit to a superior killer.

Carrying his cup, he returned to the living-room. Like every other room in the house, it was immaculately organized. He put away a book on forensics that he had been reading earlier while awaiting delivery of the paper. Everything else was tidy. It was time. The moment had arrived at last. He pulled out the 'Local' section, expecting to see a dour-looking agent in disgrace.

'_What?!' _

This simply couldn't be! He frantically flipped through the rest of the paper but it didn't help. In a fit of rage, he tore up all but the offending article. It praised HIM! Labelled HIM as one of the best of all time! If only they knew the truth, they wouldn't print such lies!

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

It was supposed to be his day. He was entitled to it! But yet again, HE had stolen it. HE would pay!

Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down, he began to think. Soon it was obvious. He would simply have to show their incompetence to them again. He turned on the television to watch the news headlines. The announcer was lauding the performance of one of the local professional basketball players. Putting down the remote control, he smirked. Perfect.

***

It had all been too easy. He had been afraid that the height difference would be a problem but his plan had come off flawlessly. Preparation had been critical. A couple days of careful observation and he knew enough. Oh how wonderful that humans are such creatures of habit!

With still-gloved hands, he put the large plastic bag back into his pocket, being careful not to bring it close to his own face. Then he turned the semi-conscious body onto its back and manoeuvred it into the desired position. Controlling his own physical reaction, he removed the bottle of ink and pen from his jacket pocket and smiling broadly, began to write.

***


	17. Chapter 17

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter 17**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

The patient had made extraordinary progress in a very short time. This was Dr. Burnstein's proclamation as the intubation tube and ventilator were removed that Monday morning. Mr. Hotchner was then transferred into a private room where Sean and the BAU team took it in turns to sit by his bedside.

Approximately five weeks after the plane crash, Aaron's physical appearance had greatly improved. Although still very pale, his bruises had gone from black to yellow and the smaller ones were now beginning to fade; the lacerations looked much less menacing and most of his stitches and bandages had been removed. The cast had been taken off his leg, replaced by a light splint to match that on his wrist. Garcia was overjoyed that the cut on her boss' face did not seem as though it would leave a permanent scar; his dimple was safe.

The positive trend continued. The agent's level of consciousness had increased so that he was almost fully awake for 10-15minutes at a time, several times a day. He had been unable to speak due to the ventilation tube, but had communicated using his eyes and uninjured right hand. With the ventilator now gone, an initial neurological exam would be performed later that afternoon during his brief periods of lucidity.

Presently, Emily was keeping vigil while Rossi and Sean discussed home care for Hotch once he was released from hospital and back in Virginia. The others had gone for lunch, promising to bring some 'real' food back with them.

"We thought that we'd lost you, but you found your way back to us." Prentiss whispered, holding Hotch's hand. Although unconscious he would still let out an occasional moan. Emily knew that the downside to his coming out of the coma was that he would feel the full brunt of his physical pain and it was heart-wrenching to witness.

"It's going to be okay Hotch. You're getting better and stronger all the time and we're all here to support you... Not that you need it. You've done a helluva job all on your own."

She watched him, comforted by the regular sound of his breathing now that it was no longer controlled by a machine.

"Of course, you're going to have to make it up to Garcia. You scared the daylights out of her!" She teased. "But maybe she's already had her revenge. I hear that she was reading a romance novel to you..."

Hotch moaned again, this time his head moving slightly in Emily's direction. His grip on her hand had tightened and his brow furrowed.

Prentiss used her free hand to stroke his forehead. "Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. The pain just shows that you're alive. You're doing great; we'll all proud of you..."

She stopped in mid-sentence as Aaron's eyes fluttered open and gradually focussed on his visitor. He frowned, apparently confused by the lack of an obstruction in his mouth.

"No more ventilator; you're breathing on your own Hotch." Prentiss smiled at him and took his hand in both of hers.

He moved his head in what seemed like a slight nod and swallowed painfully.

"Em-...'ly" he croaked in whispered recognition.

Prentiss' smile broadened. "Yep, you're stuck with me. Your brother and Rossi are plotting your recovery once we can get you out of here. Not too sure about those two... And the others have snuck off to lunch but they'll be back soon."

She reached over to a table holding a water pitcher, plastic cup and straw.

"Here, try to sip some water. Your throat's going to be a mess from that tube."

Supporting his neck, she helped him to tilt his head enough to sip from the straw. She saw him grimace.

"Careful, Hotch, just tiny sips."

He soon stopped and she eased his head back onto the pillow.

"Tha... u." he murmured.

She looked at him fondly. "Anytime. I'm just happy to have you back with us. Now the neurologist is coming to see you this afternoon so you should get some rest. We'll still be here when you wake up."

Hotch squeezed her hand by way of response and closing his eyes, drifted back to sleep.

***

Chief Neurologist Dr. Scott Sinclair glanced down at the sound of his beeper and sighing, put down his coffee cup.

'_Never mind.'_ He told himself. _'It was cold anyway.'_

He picked up the file he had been reviewing and headed towards the ICU. FBI Agent Aaron Hotchner was, by all accounts, incredibly lucky to be alive and had proven to be quite the fighter. The majority of his injuries were healing well but the severest of all, his brain, had yet to be functionally assessed. Scott flipped to that morning's notes: blood work and vital signs all stable.

'_Good.' _

Brain scan showed the amount of swelling had reduced considerably.

'_Excellent!'_

The intubation had been stopped and combined with the patient's increased level of consciousness, had presented the opportunity the neurologist had been waiting for. He tucked the file under his arm and punched a button.

"Scott!" said Matthew Burnstein, seeing him emerge from the elevator. "Thanks for doing this consult yourself. He's one of the FBI's top guys and I also figured he's been through enough and deserves the best."

Scott grinned. "Quit the b-s'ing, Matty. You're just trying to butter me up after I took you for a ride at the poker table the other night!"

Matthew chuckled. "I'll get you back for that one, never fear. But seriously, I'm really rooting for Aaron to make a full recovery but I need to know what we're up against."

"I'll do my best. Let's get started while he's awake, shall we? How much does he know?"

"We've told him about the plane crash and his injuries. He's still in a great deal of pain and extremely weak, so I'm not sure exactly how much information he actually absorbed."

The doctors entered the room. The injured man was watching a blond man pace up and down. The latter turned when he heard the door.

"Sean, let me introduce you to Dr. Scott Sinclair. He is our Chief Neurologist and the best in his field in the USA." said Dr. Burnstein. "Scott, this is Sean Hotchner, Aaron's brother."

The two men shook hands and Scott turned to the patient.

"Mr. Hotchner? I'm Scott."

He paused to see if he would get a reaction. Sure enough, Hotch moved his right hand slowly across the blanket. Scott took it and squeezed firmly in greeting.

"Aaron, I'm going to ask you to do a few things for me. We may not get through them all right away. Although you're improving, it will be awhile before you're awake for long periods of time. I want you to know that this is normal when emerging from a coma. Don't feel pressured... do you understand me?"

Hotch moved his head somewhat, wincing.

Dr. Sinclair set down his folder and pulled a small rubber-tipped hammer out of his lab coat pocket.

"I'm going to start by testing your reflexes. I apologize in advance; this is probably going to cause you some discomfort..."

The doctor jabbed ankles, knees and elbows on both sides. Hotch closed his eyes and tried to relax, although the jerking motion of his battered muscles was excruciating, especially around his splinted leg.

"Good." Scott commented, making notes. "Now I want you to wiggle the toes of your right foot, then your left foot."

Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Aaron did as he was bidden. A soft moan escaped his lips and his good hand tightly gripped the blanket on his bed. Sean moved to go to his brother but Dr. Burnstein held him back.

"He'll be alright, the worst is over."

Sean looked unconvinced but remained where he was, watching anxiously.

Dr. Sinclair was buoyed by the patient's responses. "Fabulous! Now I want you to point to where you're experiencing the greatest amount of pain."

Hotch opened his eyes and kept them fixed on the doctor as he tried to lift his uninjured hand toward his head. He got part-way when Dr. Sinclair stopped him.

"Stop there, I've got the message... your head. That's to be expected... a fractured noggin is no picnic. I'm sorry Aaron, but this type of injury takes time to heal and can be very painful."

He sat down on the side of the bed.

"You seem to fully understand me so far... Am I correct?"

Hotch inclined his head. He had been relieved to discover upon waking that he seemed to possess most of his faculties. But his mind felt fuzzy from all the medication and it was discouraging to realize that however much of it they administered to him, it wasn't nearly enough to ease the immense pain in his head. However, he found that as long as he lay perfectly still he could just about stop the sledge-hammering effect; he tried to keep movement and communication to a minimum.

The doctor was talking to him again.

"Do you have any trouble with your hearing? Anything at all?"

Aaron frowned. "L'ft... ear... rings" he said weakly.

Dr. Sinclair nodded in sympathy. "Your skull fracture is just above your left ear. This area of your brain controls speech and language, hearing and memory. Tinnitus is a common complaint but usually disappears after a few months. We will do a more complete hearing test once you're up and about."

"Doc, he can't remember what happened to him." Sean piped up from his observation spot by the window with Dr. Burnstein.

The neurologist looked at his patient.

"Aaron, what is the last thing that you remember?"

Hotch closed his eyes in concentration. Images of his Haley and Jack came into his mind followed by the faces of his team, the BAU conference room, photographs of victims from a case...

"Case... in... C'n... net... cut."

Sean looked worriedly at the doctors. "His speech... is that just because he's still groggy?"

Scott didn't answer directly but instead sent the younger Hotchner to ask one of the team when they had had a case in Connecticut while he made some further notes to himself. He could see that the agent was rapidly tiring. He decided the other tests would have to wait.

"I think that's enough for the first session, Mr. Hotchner. You've done a great job so far but you now need to get some rest. I'll be back to see you tomorrow."

When he was sure Hotch had fallen asleep, Scott gathered up his papers.

"Well?" asked Matthew impatiently.

Scott sighed. "Still too early to tell for sure..."

"Come on Scott, you're going to have an opinion. Let's have it."

"Let's go out into the hall and talk to the family all at once."

In the end, everyone gathered in the small ICU waiting room. Dr. Sinclair was introduced and described the partial assessment that he'd completed before Aaron had tired.

"There are many positives that we can take from today." he began. "Mr. Hotchner's reflexes are all intact and he responded appropriately to verbal questions and commands. He was able to move his hand to shake mine without being prompted. What was particularly encouraging was seeing that Aaron is visually tracking people when they are in the room and when he's being spoken to. That level of awareness so soon after a grade3 coma is remarkable.

"Plus number two: he can obviously hear, apart from some ringing in his left ear which is to be expected given the location of the fracture. I will do a complete auditory test when the agent is stronger but I'm not concerned at this stage. I spoke deliberately softly a couple of times and it didn't trouble him."

He regarded the group of anxious faces watching him and continued with his briefing.

"The most common repercussion following a head injury is memory loss. Again, the extent of this is hard to say until Aaron is fully lucid. However, it appears that he is suffering from some post-traumatic amnesia, meaning that he cannot recall the events directly prior to or following his injury."

"So he doesn't remember the plane crash at all?" JJ asked, secretly relieved. It was giving her nightmares, so she could only imagine what it would do to the Unit Chief.

Reid interjected, "Hotch's last memory right now is of our case in Connecticut, sixty-three days ago."

"What about his speech?" Sean asked the same question as he had earlier. He wasn't going to let the doctor wriggle out of giving him an answer.

Rossi looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"He seemed to be slurring his words and gasping for air. I want to know if it's due to all the meds or if it will be permanent..." said Sean forcefully, his eyes still fixed on the neurologist.

Dr. Sinclair cleared his throat. "It is honestly too early to tell. The next phase of testing involves having your brother do some reading aloud and some writing in order to better assess his ability to communicate. At the moment his breathing is affected by the broken ribs so it is difficult to know what may be pain-or drug-related versus a true speech impairment."

"Doc, you're an expert. What does your gut tell you?" pushed Morgan.

"I'd say that the odds of your boss escaping such a serious brain injury without experiencing some amount of difficulty with communication are very slim."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Prentiss. "But it can get better, right?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, it can, with intensive therapy. But I need to see where the limitations lie first. We need him to be fully conscious and rested to get the most valid results. I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to be patient."

***

In the days that followed, Hotch continued his surprising rate of improvement. His periods of wakefulness had lengthened to 20-30minutes, four and five times per day. During these times his dark eyes were alert and focussed; much to their amusement and secret relief, his colleagues saw flashes of his famous glare when they mothered him too much. Furthermore, the doctors started to introduce soft foods to the patient to give him more energy. He was also able to sit in a semi-upright position without dizziness.

This was the pose in which Dr. Sinclair discovered the agent when he arrived to continue the assessment of Hotch's communication abilities.

"Hello Aaron. Do you remember me?"

Hotch nodded, gazing steadily at the neurologist.

"Dr... Scott...Sinclair... Top... n'rlgst."

Scott grinned. "Not sure about that second bit, but yes. Up to doing some exercises for me?"

Hotch shifted painfully on his pillow. "Al...rigt."

The doctor pulled a pad of paper and a pen from his pocket and set them on an empty food tray.

"First, would you print and sign your name for me?"

Scott placed the pen next to Hotch's right hand.

"S'ry... lft... hand-... ed." muttered Hotch, looking pointedly at his splinted dominant hand.

Dr. Sinclair sighed. "No, my fault, I should have asked you. Try with your right hand anyway."

Aaron picked up the pen and awkwardly wrote his name on the paper. He felt that Jack's would have been more legible.

"Good. Now the 'Pledge of Allegiance', please."

Hotch looked disbelievingly at the doctor. What was the point of all of this, when it was his wrong hand?!

It took him several minutes, his brow creased in concentration, but he completed the task.

"Great! Okay, enough with the written stuff." Scott took back the pen and paper. "I know your breathing is still a little laboured, but I'm going to get you to read me a short paragraph from a book..."

In Aaron's opinion, other than having to pause to catch his breath, his reading was fine. Unfortunately, what sounded correct in the agent's head wasn't always what emerged from his mouth. The slurring was more pronounced and he would add a nonsensical word every so often. However, the neurologist made no comment other than to encourage him. By the end of the paragraph, Hotch was exhausted. Dr. Sinclair saw this and quickly brought the session to a close, leaving his patient to rest.

"How'd he do?" asked an anxious Morgan, who together with Reid, had been hovering outside of the room.

"Not bad. He is experiencing some slurring and other symptoms but I am confident that as the swelling on his brain continues to go down we will see improvement."

"Do you suspect Aphasia?" enquired Reid nervously, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Dr. Sinclair looked impressed. "Yes, he's presenting with mild Wernicke's aphasia."

"Which is what, exactly?" Morgan demanded. He hated feeling left out of the conversation.

Before the doctor could reply, Reid launched into an explanation.

"It comes from damage to the Temporal Lobe. People with Wernicke's aphasia may speak in meaningless, long sentences or add unnecessary words. Sometimes they create their own words so it can be difficult to understand what the person is trying to say."

Scott saw the look of alarm that came over Derek's face and quickly intervened.

"Your colleague doesn't exhibit the long sentences or additional words, which is very encouraging. And so far, he has been fairly easy to understand although he has added a few of his own creations and has some slurring."

Morgan was still very worried. "You said the other day that it can be treated, though, right?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, and usually quite successfully, although it can take time..."

Derek glossed over the end of the sentence. "As long as Hotch can get better, it doesn't matter how long it takes. We'll be there for him."

"You should also know that the patient often isn't aware of his/her mistakes... We will have to strike a balance between letting Aaron know when he's made an error and ensuring that he isn't too angry or intimidated to continue speaking. The only way he'll fully recover is to keep practicing out loud."

"Understood, Doc."

The conversation was interrupted when the elevator door opened and JJ came rushing onto the ward.

"Where's Rossi?!" she demanded, looking business-like.

"Getting a coffee." supplied Reid. "He should be back any second..."

"Good because we need to get back to Quantico as soon as possible! I've already called ahead to have the jet made ready."

Morgan looked at her suspiciously. "Why, what's happened?"

JJ's face was grim. "There's been another murder... We arrested the wrong unsub."

***


	18. Chapter 18

_Posted slightly early as a b-day pressie for Nexis. _

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****18**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

It had been a very sudden and quick farewell to their injured leader. Rossi had been the one to break the news to his friend.

"I'll be back as soon as we finish this, Aaron." he promised, clasping the patient's hand.

Hotch gave him a small, understanding smile. "D't... worry... I'll be... okay."

Dave returned the grin and picked up his jacket. "You'd better be." He stopped at the door. "And I'm leaving you Penelope..."

As if on cue, Garcia waltzed into the room, carrying a large bag. Hotch frowned.

"You need... to be... wif t'team..."

Garcia grinned at him.

"That's the beauty of being a technical wizard-ess! Everything is at my fingertips! I am still a pure fountain of knowledge, never fear O'fallen leader!"

Hotch wasn't buying a word of it.

"M fine." he said weakly but firmly. "Go... S'n order."

"You were easier to argue with when you didn't answer back, boss-man." Garcia said pretending to pout but knowing it would be useless to disagree with him.

Having heard the exchange, Rossi was already shaking his head in defeat at the door.

"But I'm leaving Betty to keep an eye on you." Garcia informed Hotch and her expression dared him to challenge her.

Instead, he half-smiled as she placed a hot pink toy figurine on his window sill.

"Pen...'lpe... Betty... better not... have any... hddn... cm'rs."

Garcia grinned wickedly at him and giggled.

"You'd just better behave, Sir. No overdoing it. Sean will tattle even if Betty doesn't."

Hotch rolled his eyes knowing she was right.

Garcia turned to wave when she got to the doorway but saw him motioning to her with his good hand. She returned to the bedside.

"What is it Hotch?" she asked in concern.

Realizing he had startled her, Aaron smiled apologetically.

"Just wanted to... thk you..."

The technical analyst felt herself tearing up as she grinned broadly. Embarrassed, she got to her feet.

"My pleasure Sir... but I didn't really do anything except babble."

But Hotch shook his head as much as the pain would allow.

"No Garcia... You s'vd... my life." he said gravely and with his customary penetrating stare.

She dropped her eyes.

"A gross exaggeration. You were the one who crawled god knows how far from a plane wreck with a broken skull. Now just get better! We need you."

On sudden impulse Garcia leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and dashed out the door without looking back.

***

**27,000 FEET, SOMEWHERE OVER THE MIDWEST.**

Two hours after receiving the news, the BAU members were airborne, the jet heading east. After being scattered about the plush seats for takeoff, they had now gathered around a small table in the middle of the aircraft. Everyone was sitting save for Rossi who sat on the arm rest of an empty chair.

"What do we know, JJ?" asked Rossi once they had reached cruising altitude.

"Not a lot." sighed JJ. "Gideon was very vague, just said that there had been another murder, that it wasn't a copycat and how soon could we get back."

"Sounds like Gideon." commented Prentiss. "He can by cryptic at the best of times. Hotch was the only one who seemed to be able to figure him out. Has he been to the crime scene?"

JJ shrugged in exasperation.

"I really don't know, Em. When I tried to get more information out of him, he just said that I should be worrying about making the necessary travel arrangements and he would brief us when we landed. Then he hung up!"

"Now THAT sounds like Gideon." Morgan growled, putting his earphones away to join in the conversation.

"Enough, Derek." warned Rossi, irritated with the younger agent's constant digs at Jason. "We should be more concerned with what we ARE sure of: us getting the wrong guy. I don't know about all of you, but that doesn't sit well with me."

The rest of the team looked suitably chastised.

"Strauss is going to lynch us..." Reid lamented, looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "She'll say we were careless because of wanting to get to Hotch..."

Dave waved his hand dismissively. "You let me take care of Strauss; I really don't give a damn what she thinks. We're already down a man so she can't afford to suspend any of us. But I am bothered by the fact that an innocent man has been wrongfully accused and there's a killer still out there."

Despite his downplaying of Reid's comment, Dave was feeling uneasy.

'_Reid's right, Strauss isn't going to be happy... and she'll have a point... I know I was distracted and the team probably picked up on it... some Unit Chief... And were we focussed enough on the case? HAVE we been careless? Was I right to send Garcia to Hotch?'_

He sighed inwardly, knowing it was pointless to second-guess himself. But he needed to make sure that they were better this time around.

"Our profile seemed so solid." Prentiss was frowning as she re-read the case file for the umpteenth time. She thought that she could recite the details in her sleep.

Rossi glanced at her. "It still could be. We need to see what this latest murder can tell us. It might be that we missed something, or it might be that we just didn't have all the information."

He looked Garcia who was bent over her computer.

"Garcia, has this murder hit the press yet? Maybe we can at least learn about the victim prior to landing."

The technical analyst shook her head. She had video-linked to Kevin back at Quantico, who had been searching all the major news websites and found nothing.

JJ sighed. "Well that's something. At least we can control what gets released."

Rossi rose wearily from the arm rest and moved to the back of the plane to lie down. "May as well get some sleep. It might be the last we get for awhile."

Prentiss, Garcia and JJ followed David's lead and settled themselves in single seats as comfortably as they could. Reid remained at the table, staring out the window. Morgan watched him for a few moments, aware that something was bothering the younger man. He moved to sit down in the seat opposite.

"Talk to me Reid." he said in a low voice.

Reid pursed his lips together in annoyance at being so easily read. Then he turned and met Morgan's expectant gaze.

"I... I... Um, Morgan, how did you feel about Gideon coming back?" These last words came out in a rush.

Morgan sighed. "Is that what's eating you?"

Reid nodded.

"When we were actually working the case, like visiting the crime scenes in Cootes Store, he was the same Gideon I respected for all those years as a student and then a colleague. He's still a great profiler with good instincts."

"But he was wrong this time..." pointed out Reid.

Morgan shook his head. "Reid, we do this as a team. We all went wrong somewhere."

Reid looked confused. "Now you're sticking up for him... I don't get it. Up until this minute, you've been biting his head off..."

"Look kid, I was upset. I was worried about Hotch and wasn't thinking straight." Derek shrugged.

Now it was Reid's turn to shake his head.

"So you're cool with him having just left the way he did?!" he asked disbelievingly.

Morgan evaded Reid's eyes, looking out the window. He didn't reply, but his jaw clenched.

Reid understood. He felt the same way. During the case, it had been quite easy to forget that Gideon had forsaken them without any notice, only a letter; a letter that had been addressed to him. Part of Spencer got it. He had experienced the pressures of the job and figured that he too would burn out one day and move on; there were certainly enough statistics to back that up. But the other side of him couldn't come to grips with the way that Gideon just disappeared. He knew that he should feel honoured that Jason had chosen to confide in him with the letter, but he didn't. It should have been Hotch. After all, Hotch and Gideon were friends... He often wondered what the Unit Chief thought of the whole thing but was too shy to ask.

Reid went back to staring out the window. Watching the clouds swirl by, he said softly,

"I thought I'd forgiven him but I can't help still thinking that he should have told all of us in person..."

Morgan nodded slightly, not wanting to talk about Gideon anymore. It just made him angry.

"Yeah, me too." he muttered.

Swallowing hard, Reid added almost shyly,

"And I thought he should have come with us to see Hotch..."

Morgan finally pulled his eyes from the window and met Reid's. Spencer could see the disappointment and resentment in their dark depths as Derek replied simply,

"Yeah, me too kid."

***

**BAU, ****FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Jason Gideon entered the conference room like man possessed. He marched up to the victim board and tacked a photograph to it.

"Victim #7 was a professional basketball player in DC but he lives two blocks from here." he said without preamble. "His name was Freddy Mathersen, aged 26. He was found 12 hours ago."

"How do we know it wasn't a copycat?" asked Morgan.

Gideon moved his hands dismissively. "It's the exact same signature, down to the ink. Trust me."

Morgan and Reid exchanged a look. Rossi saw it but made no comment.

"And some things weren't released to the media." JJ broke in. "I gave them the general MO but I wasn't specific with the signature. They know the bodies were naked and Latin was involved but other than the first victim's 'Emperor', they weren't given any details."

"The crime scene was like all the others." Gideon continued. "No physical evidence, body in the same position, Latin memo."

"What did this one say?" asked Reid, picking up a pen and walking to the victim board.

Gideon didn't need to check his notes. "'sic volo, sic iubeo'..."

"I want this, I order this" he and Reid said in unison.

"Well, nothing really new there." said Prentiss, sighing. "He's consistent at least... and still feeding his fantasy of power."

"Okay, let's review our profile from the beginning and see if it all still fits." Gideon stopped pacing and sat down.

Rossi nodded in agreement. "Start with victimology."

Reid stood in front of the victim board, rapidly scanning it for patterns.

"Still no 'type'." he thought out loud, never taking his eyes from the board. "He isn't biased towards a particular gender, occupation, age, socio-economic category, ethnic group or geographical area..."

"Which means we're still looking at an unsub who kills to gain recognition, power/control or thrills" confirmed Emily.

Rossi said, "We chose power/control because the signature pointed towards an unsub who was targeting authority figures..."

"...although..." Reid was still muttering to himself. Then he suddenly burst out, "Hey guys, the unsub may have just broken pattern!!!"

All heads swung immediately in the young agent's direction.

"Go on kid!" encouraged Morgan.

"What if it's not authority figures per se that he's after!" Reid said excitedly, his hands animated as he spoke. "Look, look! Principal, Fire Chief, Bank Manager, Minister, CEO, Politician and Professional Athlete... they're not all in positions of authority, but they **are** all at the top of their occupations locally..."

He looked at the rest of the team, who sat quietly, pondering his words.

"You know" Gideon started slowly, "I think you're right Dr. Reid."

"Good work, boy genius!" Garcia smiled at Spencer.

"This changes things how?" questioned JJ.

"It affects our interpretation of his fantasy. We thought he was getting off on controlling victims that he perceived as being powerful. We need to revisit this." explained Prentiss.

Gideon put his head in one hand. His expression became grim. "We were wrong. He's a recognition-seeker... and a Machiavellian."

Garcia raised her eyebrows. "A macki- what?"

"Machiavellian, my love." answered Morgan. "Somebody who is a cross between a narcissist and an antisocial personality."

"And who has an extremely high sense of entitlement." Reid added.

Rossi quickly took charge.

"Alright, I'm sick of being behind this guy! Garcia, we need you to re-do all of those cross-checks with this new portion of the profile. Then we'll see if any of our original suspects still stand out and go from there. Reid, give her a hand.

"Everyone else..."

He was interrupted by JJ's phone ringing. She took the call outside of the conference room but was back almost immediately, a couriered letter in her hand.

"I think you all need to see this..." she said, handing it to Rossi.

Dave took it and read aloud:

Agent Gideon and the BAU:

I must first inform you that I will be sending a duplicate copy to the local press. The people have a right to know of the gross incompetency of the FBI; they seem to have a false perception at the moment.

My, how you have gotten it wrong! You have been so hopelessly off-base that you arrested an innocent man. The athlete did not have to die but how else to show the truth to the world?

I want this. I order this.

And you think that you are the best. You disappoint and do me an injustice.

Admit your failings and inferiority and this can end.

"Damnant quod non intellegunt"

'_Imperator'_

After he had finished, Rossi handed the letter back to JJ.

"Okay, the unsub seems hell bent on taunting us. We know it's him because of the reference to the last victim. Let's use this to gain an advantage and get this asshole. Observations?"

He didn't raise his voice but the team heard the anger and frustration in Dave's words. They knew he would be under pressure from Strauss and that they couldn't afford to lose focus.

"What is the significance of having the letter addressed to Gideon, if any?" Prentiss enquired.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at Gideon.

"Jason? Any ideas?"

Gideon shook his head slowly. Something still nagged at the back of his mind and yet he couldn't put a finger on it... something from his past... Sighing, he asked Garcia to check for links between the original suspect list and all of his cases.

"That might take awhile, Sir..." warned Garcia, getting up from table and heading towards her cave of equipment.

"Just do it." Gideon replied distractedly. He was still trying to grasp the memory that seemed just beyond his reach.

Morgan seemed to read the ex-agent's mind.

"If it is something from a past case, he may not realize that you've retired." commented Morgan. "Might explain why he refers to you like you're a current agent."

Rossi looked doubtful. "I agree there could be a link to the past, but not because of the title he uses. Hell, I got called 'agent' during the whole of my retirement, and not just at book signings."

Gideon was examining the time line on the board, which had the corresponding newspaper articles tacked to its corresponding murder.

"He didn't deem it necessary to contact us or the media until the article detailing the arrest of Frenz... We need to ask ourselves why..."

Reid rose and joined him at the board, rapidly re-reading the clippings and looking for clues.

"I think I've got it!" he exclaimed. "He was only after the recognition at first. The media gave him that, mentioned his intelligence.

He moved on to the latest article, gesturing eagerly.

"Look! All of a sudden the focus on the article is on the **demise** of the killer. Remember that often with major serial killers, even when they're caught, their intelligence and evasion of the police are still credited. But not in this piece! The complements stopped and it became about us.

The excitement in Reid's voice became more evident as he continued.

"And worse yet for a Machiavellian, the BAU was lavishly praised. I don't think he cares so much that we got it wrong, but that he lost centre stage."

"I agree with everything until your last sentence." said Gideon. "Yes, the unsub is angry at losing attention. But he is also ticked off because he lost recognition for being intelligent... and lost it to us when we were wrong. He sees that as an extreme insult and an error that needed correcting."

"Which he did all too well..." muttered Prentiss.

She looked towards Reid, who was still absorbed in the victim board and timeline.

"Ok genius, what's the Latin translation in this letter?"

Reid frowned, distracted. "They condemn what they do not understand."

"That was illuminating." Emily rolled her eyes sarcastically.

JJ was still looking at the letter in her hand.

"What failings are we supposed to admit?" she asked. "...The fact that we got the wrong man? That was done already and in time for the morning papers."

Rossi's expression was dour as he remarked, "We will know soon enough. If it wasn't the admission he was looking for we'll get another body."

***


	19. Chapter 19

_Some progression for our Hotch. ___

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****19**

**MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, TOPEKA, KS.**

Grudgingly holding onto his brother for support, Hotch shuffled painfully back to his bed. The two men had just completed a walking circuit of the ICU wing and the agent was thoroughly exhausted. He slowly dropped himself onto the mattress and sat there for a moment to gather what remained of his energy.

"You okay bro?" asked Sean anxiously, seeing the unexpected pause. "I'll lift your legs up for you; just let me know when..."

Hotch glanced up at his sibling and glared. "I'll be fine, just give me... a min't."

In truth, his head had begun its pounding again, but he wasn't about to admit it. The younger Hotchner, however, noticed the slight decline in his brother's speech. Sean knew that fatigue worsened the effects of Aaron's brain injury and that they were walking a fine line between building stamina and bringing on more pain. The doctors had reassured them that no further damage could be caused; exertion would be limited by the patient's pain tolerance.

'_And stubbornness.' _thought Sean ruefully.

After the pulsing in his head had reduced itself to a dull thud, Hotch took a deep breath, leaned back and in a single motion swung his legs onto the bed. He lay panting against his pillow, eyes closed, unable to stifle a moan of pain.

"Serves you right." said Sean blandly, pulling up the visitors chair and sitting down. "Next time maybe you won't be so stubborn and allow me to help."

He received only a grunt in response. Grinning and shaking his head to himself, he listened as Hotch's breathing slowed and gradually deepened.

'_Good, he's a sleep... I need a coffee!'_

Pulling the covers from the bottom of the bed up over his brother, it occurred to him again how lucky he was to still have a sibling. Sean was very grateful that Aaron seemed well on his way to recovery with, all things considered, minimal impairment.

Hotch's assisted 'shuffles' had begun a few days earlier, first with aid of a walker, then as he progressed, with Sean as support. The broken bones had finished knitting together so the physical therapists were encouraging movement to bring back range of motion and strength. The rehabilitation exercises were painful, but Hotch pushed through; they were his ticket to independence and to going home... home to Jack and the BAU. Besides, no pain in his leg, wrist, chest or abdomen could come close to matching the severe, sometimes excruciating headaches he experienced. They would sneak up on him when he least expected it and he was left holding his head in his hands, writhing in agony and increasingly frustrated by their unpredictability.

On such occasions, Sean could only watch helplessly. No amount of comfort from him or painkillers from the doctors seemed to reach Aaron in this state. He would lie in darkness, trying to remain perfectly still until either the storm passed or a sedative was administered. If he was fortunate and caught it soon enough, the hurricane would be more of a thunderstorm. So far it hadn't been a lucky week.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the string of misfortune was continuing. When Sean returned from his coffee break he found his brother in the beginning stages of an 'episode' as they had come to call these severe attacks.

"Aaron?!" he exclaimed in alarm, entering the room to find Hotch lying with one hand pressed against his head, the other covering his eyes. "Have you called for a nurse?"

"Not yet. It train just started."

Sean cringed. There it was... a nonsense word. The BAU team had nicknamed them 'Hotchisms'. The doctors and speech therapist had warned them all not to correct Aaron so instead the younger Hotchner doubled back into the hallway, calling for a nurse.

Dr. Burnstein happened to be making rounds, saw Sean's distress and came in with some medication. Twenty minutes later Hotch was finally able to let go of his head, although he felt dizzy, nauseous and slightly disoriented.

"Sean..?" he whispered, squinting slightly as he opened his eyes.

"Shh, I'm here bro. Try not to move."

"Whawasin the turtle shot?"

"I don't know... a mix of pain meds and some sedative I'd guess. Do you feel any better?"

"L'il bit."

Sean sighed with relief. The episode had been relatively short. He leaned forward and took his sibling's hand.

"Try to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

He saw Hotch's body relax but continued to hold his hand until he was certain Aaron had fallen asleep. He began to understand the large mountain that still needed to be climbed before his brother would be able to resume a normal life. Putting his own head in his hands, Sean fought against the sea of helplessness that threatened to engulf him.

***

Two more days passed and Hotch continued to make significant improvements. His stamina and balance improved to the point he no longer needed to hold onto Sean when they walked the hospital corridors. He undertook tests of his hand-eye coordination and a more detailed auditory assessment and passed both with flying colours. Now that Aaron was ambulatory and the swelling in his brain was down to a minimum, the doctors began to talk of sending him home once the severe headaches were more manageable.

However, the patient's recovery wasn't all smooth sailing. Hotch had become aware of his slurred speech and nonsense word additions and it scared him greatly, although he didn't say anything to his medical team or to Sean. He couldn't seem to control what came out of his mouth and began to fear for his job. How could he be an effective leader if he couldn't string together a proper sentence? Who would take him seriously as an interrogator or courtroom witness? He wouldn't stay at the BAU to simply push paper.

Aaron's worries began to impinge on his sleep. The doctors had warned him that insomnia was a common side-effect of a temporal lobe injury and would likely appear as he was weaned off the vast amounts of medication. He was also told that it could last for over a year. Right now the longer term prognosis was the least of Hotch's concerns. The lack of sleep was creating a vicious circle: when he was tired, his speech worsened which in turn caused him greater stress and led to more insomnia. And so it continued.

The doctors and Sean were not blind to the problem. Sadly, it was exacerbating another by-product of the brain injury: emotional disturbances. Aaron was exhibiting uncharacteristic periods of irritability and anger. These outbursts were directed at anyone who happened to be in the vicinity and although short-lived and instantly regretted, were deeply alarming to the usually calm and controlled man.

'_What am I going to do if I lose my temper with Jack or in the middle of a delicate negotiation?!'_

The combined effects of these issues rapidly sent the agent into a depression. He started to refuse phone calls from Dave and visits from his brother. Moreover, as Dr. Sinclair had dreaded, Hotch needed more and more prompting to get him to talk out loud. Even calls from Jack went unreturned.

An extremely concerned group (Sean, Drs Burnstein and Sinclair, the speech therapist, and Rossi and Haley via a video link to the BAU) gathered to discuss Aaron's condition and how to move forward with his recovery. With the case still open, Dave could not yet get away and it was obvious that phone calls were no longer effective. But Sean had taken a leave of absence from his New York restaurant and was happy to nurse his brother in Virginia. Moreover, Haley was very willing to allow her ex-husband plenty of time with his son as long as Aaron felt up to it.

"Jack knows his dad was hurt in an accident, but it has been long enough now that he's getting suspicious about its severity... He really misses Aaron and I think they need to see each other... do them both the world of good." said Haley.

After much detailed discussion and conferring by the medical team, it was decided that the best environment for Agent Hotchner's recovery would be the familiar surroundings of home, surrounded by family and friends. He would be unable to stop visitors since Sean would be around; Sean would also ensure that he attended his out-patient appointments at the nearby hospital.

"The FBI is sending out a vehicle and driver for you and your brother." Dr. Burnstein told Sean after getting off the phone with Agent Rossi. "We should be ready to release Aaron in a couple of days. Dr. Sinclair is in touch with the hospital in Quantico and will give you enough medication to get your brother home."

Sean nodded gratefully. "Thanks for all of your help... and for saving Aaron's life. I don't know what I would do without my brother but don't tell him that."

Matthew smiled. "You Hotchners are obviously strong people. Your brother's exceptional will to live is what has gotten him this far and is what will get him the rest of the way. He'll get over this rough patch, it just takes time. I am confident that his brain **will **completely heal and as long as he continues his therapy, ultimately his speech will be fine."

"I sure hope so..." said Sean, uneasily eyeing the door to Hotch's room and wondering how his sibling would react to news of his discharge.

"Trust me, I'm a doctor." joked Matthew and the two men shook hands, smiling at one another.

***

**BALTIMORE, MD.**

He turned up the volume on the radio and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He was feeling slightly better this week. Sending the correction to the press and to HIM had been therapeutic. But the apology had been weak... and it had included no acknowledgment of his hard work.

He was angry. How many more before HE realized what was required?

And it was not only that... something else was missing...

Reaching between his legs with one hand he fondled himself for a moment. He was missing that exaltation that would only come with another demonstration to HIM. It was time to plan once again.

He exited the highway and drove along a country road. As he thought about his plan, his mood improved. Soon. A heavy bass blared through the speakers. He pictured his album and knew that he would shortly be caressing those wonderful pages. His excitement grew and his foot hit the accelerator. He turned up the music again. His drumming became faster. Each photo flashed in his head to the rapid beat of the song. He blinked, seeing the road, _'go faster!'_, hearing the music, _'go faster!'_, seeing the bodies... so perfect... so grateful... so..............................

***


	20. Chapter 20

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****20**

**VIRGINIA.**

Sean stood in the doorway separating the living room and kitchen, watching an infuriated Aaron throw a pillow at him from his sitting position on the couch.

"Sean, I'm telling you that I'm fine! You need to get back to New York soon or you beanbag won't have a restaurant to worry car about!"

Gritting his teeth, the younger Hotchner picked up the pillow and put it on a chair out of harm's way.

"Quit upsetting yourself Aaron. You're obviously NOT fine and I'm not leaving here until I'm satisfied that you can look after yourself."

Hotch's eyes flashed with anger. "I am more than pencil able to look after myself! I'm not an invalid!"

Sean was rapidly losing what patience he had left. "You know what, bro, you're right. You're not an invalid. But three 'Hotchisms' in a matter of seconds is not filling me with a great deal of confidence about your recovery!"

He knew he was playing dirty. Mentioning Aaron's nonsense words was unfair. But his brother had been irritable all morning for no apparent reason and Sean decided that he couldn't be allowed to get away with it indefinitely. But he instantly regretted his words. Hotch looked like he'd been punched. His entire demeanour changed. His body sagged and his eyes dropped. He became silent and lay back on the couch, his temper deflated but his spirit defeated.

'_Dammit!'_ thought Sean and moved to sit on the coffee table, within reach of the prone form.

"Aaron, I'm sorry... that wasn't fair..."

Hotch regarded his brother for a moment then shut his eyes. "You don't need to apologize for telling the truth." he said wearily. He turned his head away. "Now if you don't mind, I guess I need to... aaarrrggghh!"

And with the exclamation came the second burst of pain. Moaning in agony, he put one hand up to his left temple and with the other, reached blindly for the bottle of pills on the table. Wordlessly Sean opened the bottle and pushed a couple tablets into his brother's hand. Then he got up and closed the curtains before pushing aside the pillow and sitting in the chair to keep watch; there was nothing else he could do and he felt helpless. Mercifully, the attacks were coming less often and were shorter, but were almost as severe as they'd been in Kansas.

It took a good twenty minutes for Hotch to be able to think clearly again.

"I'm sorry Sean..." he whispered at length, hands still pressed to his head and over his eyes.

"Forget it. It's not your fault. I'm sorry I wound you up."

"It's okay, I asked for it."

They continued to sit silently in the dark.

"Sean..?"

"Mmm?"

"What am I going to do...?!!"

Sean frowned. He could hear the panic in the whispered words and it wasn't like his brother to ask for advice.

"You're going to get well and go back to the BAU." He stated firmly.

Hotch removed the hand from over his eyes and squinted at his sibling through the darkness.

"You really believe that?" he asked suspiciously.

Sean realized that he did.

"Yes." he replied sincerely. "For God's sake, you survived a plane crash and a coma. You aren't going to let an extra word here and there ruin the career you've worked so damned hard at, are you?"

He considered the question rhetorical so he didn't wait for an answer and continued.

"Aaron, you're the strongest man I've ever met; too fucking strong sometimes. You **are** going to get better! You've already made huge progress. Your slurring is gone and the only time I still hear a 'Hotchism' is when you're tired... or really pissed off."

He looked over at his brother. The older Hotchner looked unconvinced; he'd lost his confidence. Sean knew he needed to help Aaron find it again.

"Look I know I don't tell you enough, but I'm proud of you. You're a great dad and brother and by all accounts, a helluva profiler... none of these occupations requires perfect speech and yours is 85% flawless AND improving all the time."

He hesitated before adding softly:

"Bro, it could have been way worse..."

Hotch closed his eyes. His head still pounded. He was weaker than he'd like to admit. His temper was still volatile. His speech wasn't perfect. But he had the most important thing. He had his life.

"Sean..?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks little brother."

***

Jack giggled as his dad tickled him under his arms.

"Stop it daddy!" he squealed.

Hotch decided that his head might not take too many more high pitched tones so he obliged, pulling his son into a hug.

"I love you buddy." He murmured into the boy's blond hair.

Jack looked up at him and smiled. "I love you too, daddy."

"What do you want to do before lunchtime?" Hotch asked releasing the youngster.

By way of an answer, Jack walked over to the small knapsack he'd dropped by the door and pulled out a book.

"Can you read to me? Pleeeeease?" he asked, putting the book on his father's lap and clambering back up onto the couch. He wriggled under one of Hotch's arms and looked up expectantly.

Hotch sighed. Reading to Jack had always been one of his favourite things. However, although he was no longer self-conscious of his 'Hotchisms' around Sean or his team, he wanted to set a good example to his son and wasn't sure his speech was ready for that challenge.

"Jack, maybe you should get Uncle Sean to read to you..."

The young Hotchner furrowed his brow in a perfect imitation of his dad. "But I want YOU to read it. And Uncle Sean says that you have to keep practicing so that you can get all better and go back to work."

Fortunately for 'Uncle Sean', he was busy making lunch and so avoided the impact of Hotch's glare towards the kitchen door.

"Did he now..." the agent muttered.

But then he sighed again and opened the book.

"I might add a word by mistake..." Hotch began but Jack simply shrugged.

"I don't care daddy. I just like how you tell stories."

Hotch smiled gratefully and hugged his son again.

"Ok, then let's get started." and he began, "'Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Jack...'"

***

Hotch had made it through the entire book without any unintentional additions, lunch had been eaten and father and son sent upstairs for a nap when the doorbell rang. Sean put down his bottle of beer, muted the TV and opened the door.

"Agents." He greeted Rossi and Morgan. "Aaron's just resting but he should be up in a half hour or so... You're welcome to wait; I'm just watching the game."

"Thanks." Derek stepped in followed by Dave.

"Sorry for showing up unannounced." Rossi said, settling in the chair. "We thought we'd just missed nap time and we didn't want to give Hotch the chance to refuse visitors."

"Jack's presence has been working wonders in that department." supplied Sean heading into the kitchen to retrieve more beer. "Aaron's depression seems to be gone and he's more determined than ever to get back to normal, thank god.

"As for your timing..." Sean grinned, handing out the bottles. "Usually it would have been perfect but Jack had Aaron reading to him so lunch was a little delayed."

Dave was pleasantly surprised. "Hey, that's fantastic! How did it go?"

"Jack loved it and I didn't hear any slip-ups from the narrator. I think my brother enjoyed himself too, although of course he won't admit to it."

"Of course not." agreed Morgan. "How's his temper?"

"Getting there slowly. Overall, he's doing okay: speech, temper and headaches all improving. I think that the 3-week target for returning to the BAU will work out perfectly."

"That's great news!" Rossi said enthusiastically. "We need our Unit Chief back."

Derek looked at Dave and laughed. "You just want someone else to deal with Strauss."

"That too." Dave smiled.

"Say, you guys ever catch that creep you had to leave Kansas for? Aaron hasn't said anything..." Sean inquired.

Morgan frowned and ran a hand over his bald head. "No and man, I gotta tell you, it's frustrating to know he's still out there."

Sean looked confused. "But... you're not working?"

Rossi sighed. "There haven't been any more killings; the unsub seems to be in a cooling off period."

"So you just give up?"

"No, but since it's been over a month we handed the file back to the local police. If the killer strikes again or a new lead arises, we're sure to be invited back to help." Dave took a swig of beer. "We've also sent the profile nation-wide since such long periods can mean that the unsub has relocated."

"Or died?" Sean suggested hopefully.

"Yep, or died... or been in an accident. Garcia's been keeping track of the police reports and our suspect list was updated and circulated too. Again, follow up is reliant upon the local law enforcement."

"And Agent Gideon?" asked Sean, a slight edge to his voice.

Dave glanced uneasily at Derek. "He went back to his cabin."

A dark shadow passed across Sean's face but he said nothing.

"And in the meantime, we move on to other cases." finished Morgan, steering conversation away from the retired agent. He pointed at the TV. "Now how about un-muting the ball game?"

The three men chatted pleasantly about the recent poor form of the basketball team and the success of Sean's restaurant. The chef was halfway through a description of the perfect tuna salad recipe for Morgan when Hotch appeared on the stairs, moving somewhat gingerly.

"Hotch!" Rossi called out in greeting.

"Moving like an old man, bro." Sean teased, giving up his spot on the couch.

Aaron nodded his thanks and sat down. "Feel like an old man. Seems like I'm always stiff when I first wake up these days."

"Good nap?" Derek asked, noting his boss still looked tired.

Hotch shook his head in disgust. "Not really. The doctors weren't wrong flower about the insomnia; they recommended a non-habit-forming drug but I've had enough pills to last me a lifetime."

"The man is as stubborn as ever." Sean rolled his eyes. He then excused himself to go and see to Jack and left the FBI members to talk in peace.

Aaron turned to his colleagues. "So what's going on at the BAU?"

Rossi shrugged. "Just the usual. I'm trying to procrastinate with as much of the paperwork as possible..." he remarked casually.

Hotch smiled slightly. "Gee thanks, Dave."

They all grinned then Hotch became serious.

"I need a favour, please." He said.

"Uh oh..." Morgan said slowly.

"Don't worry, it's nothing much. I'm just going crazy sitting around here all day. Jack is in school most of the time and Sean is trying to run his business over the phone. I need something to stimulate my brain and marble I was thinking you could bring over some files... I could help you with-"

"Absolutely not, Aaron!" intoned Rossi, who had noticed the 'Hotchisms'. "You're on sick-leave, remember? You're supposed to be recuperating, not stressing yourself with deadlines and bureaucracy."

"But..." Hotch protested.

"Forget it, man." Morgan backed up the current Unit Chief. "We want you back fresh and healed. No way are we going to do anything to jeopardize your recovery."

Hotch was silent for a moment then "What about files from old cases?" He tried. "No deadlines, no stress and I could do with refreshing my skills..."

Dave looked over at Derek. The two shook their heads in amusement then Rossi sighed.

"Okay, you've got us there. I can't see any harm in that proposal."

"How about the one you've just put on the back burner..?"

"Ho-otch..." Rossi said with a warning tone. "Don't push it."

The injured agent tried to look innocent. "Come on Dave, I'll give it a fresh pair of eyes."

After more debate, Rossi finally relented and promised to drop the folder off on his way home from the BAU that evening.

***

Next morning, once Sean had left to run some errands and to drop Jack off at school, Hotch spread the contents of the folder over the coffee table. He had already read through the case twice and was prepared to start making some notes of his own. He tried to take things sequentially and build the profile as his team must have done. The agent was hoping to come up with something similar, proving to himself he could still do the job.

An hour later, Hotch stretched his arms, put down his pen and took a break to get some coffee. He was feeling quite good about things. So far, his profile matched that of the BAU. He would go through the last murder once more, looking for something the others may have missed or perhaps a different way of interpreting things. He doubted he would find anything new. After all, his team was the best in the business, as was Gideon.

Thinking of Gideon prompted Hotch to realize that he had yet to open the envelope that Rossi had left with him in Kansas. He got up and pulled it down from the mantelpiece where he'd hidden it behind the opened 'get well' cards.

Hotch was still trying to figure out his feelings towards Gideon. He understood all too well the effects this job had on even the most seasoned agents, and Jason had already experienced a nervous breakdown prior to his girlfriend's murder.

'_Who am I to judge a man by how he responded to such a personal tragedy?' _he asked himself._ 'Would I do any better if something happened to Jack because of me, because of what I do?'_

And yet Hotch had believed that he and Gideon were close enough colleagues for him to warrant at least a good-bye. It had been SSA Hotchner after all, that Jason had called with news that Frank was back and had killed his lady. It had been Hotch who had covered for Gideon and put his own job on the line by bringing in the team in order to clear his friend's name. He certainly didn't expect or desire any thanks, but a simple phone call would have been nice.

Hotch sighed and tore open the envelope. He wondered how the team had reacted to Gideon's sudden appearance, Reid especially. Aaron bore no resentment towards the younger agent for the fact that he had been the sole beneficiary of correspondence from Jason; he was actually relieved. He knew that Spencer had looked up to Gideon so to be treated as all the others would have been devastating.

'_I hope Rossi or Morgan kept an eye on Reid during this case.'_ Hotch thought unfolding the piece of paper.

Pausing before reading the letter, he recalled his relationship with Jason. They had worked well together and Aaron had learned a good deal from the older man. But the manner of his departure had, at the time, both angered and saddened Hotch. He sighed again.

He had buried these feelings long ago; there was no point in staying angry. However, Hotch couldn't deny that there was definitely some residual hurt and disappointment. Why else was had he not opened the letter prior to now? He read the note. It was typical Gideon. A veiled apology of sorts with little detail; it seemed like the ex-agent was still trying to find the explanations he had left to seek.

'_A shame.'_

Gideon had expressed his joy that Aaron had survived the plane crash and his confidence that his old friend would have the strength to make a full recovery. He had praised Hotch's leadership at the BAU; said it was very apparent his influence had made the team better.

What was missing was any mention of Jason's departure or lack of contact since. Nor was there any apology or explanation given for Gideon's absence in Kansas or for his return to his cabin without visiting his old colleague.

Hotch shook his head. He found that he was more saddened than angry. He was aware that he shut off his emotions from the team the majority of the time. But he hoped that he would never become like Gideon who seemed, for the most part, to have shut himself off from the world.

***


	21. Chapter 21

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter 21**

**3 WEEKS LATER: BAU, FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

SSA David Rossi looked around before extracting a set of keys from his pocket. The bullpen was deserted. The BAU room was empty. This wasn't a big surprise given that it was only 7:24am and most of the team didn't arrive until after 8:00am. Still, he double checked over his shoulder before inserting a key into the lock. He felt it give and he slipped into the room, easing the door closed behind him.

"Something I can help you with Dave?"

Rossi jumped, startled and turned around guiltily.

Hotch sat behind his desk, a look of amusement playing about his lips.

"Hotch! I uh... um..."

"Yes?" Hotch enquired, one eyebrow raised. He was doing his utmost to keep the smile off his face.

Dave sighed and sat down in the chair opposite his friend.

"Guess I'm busted, huh?" he said sheepishly.

"Pretty much." Hotch said laughing. "What were you planning..? Or do I want to know?"

Rossi grinned. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't the first one into the office on your first day back... make sure everything was in order for the rightful Unit Chief. Obviously I failed."

Hotch regarded the older agent. "Thanks for the sentiment." He paused. "You know for a moment there, I thought you might be trying to secretly unload some more paperwork."

It was Dave's turn to laugh. "Nah, I'll give that to you directly but I'll wait until you're officially on the clock again." He got up and headed to the door. You **do** remember that's not until 8 o'clock, right?"

Hotch merely grunted. Rossi was halfway out the door when the younger agent called him back.

"Dave?"

Rossi turned.

Hotch looked at him affectionately. "Thanks for everything... for all your support over the past months... and for never giving up on me..."

Dave smiled. "Welcome back, my good friend." he said simply.

***

Hotch was glad that he'd chosen to come in early. As expected, once the rest of the team had arrived, the morning was full of hugs, hand-shaking and getting settled back in. Fortunately, no cases involving field work had yet crossed JJ's desk.

"Nice that you can have a day to ease back into things." remarked Section Chief Erin Strauss, stepping into Hotch's office after a brief knock.

Hotch stood up from behind the mound of files that Rossi had delightfully dropped off earlier.

"M'am." he greeted her politely.

"It's good to have you back, Agent Hotchner."

"Thank you. It's good to **be** back."

He noticed that she was pacing, looking slightly nervous. He waited. He knew that she would have some reservations about his return given the severity of his injuries. But Hotch also felt that he had demonstrated his readiness for duty having passed all of the physical and psychological tests the FBI required of its injured agents.

"How are you feeling Aaron?" Strauss asked.

'_Here it comes.'_ he thought. "Fine." he replied.

"No more side effects?"

Hotch hesitated. He knew that she would have talked to his doctors and would be well aware that he could still exhibit side-effects such as the severe headaches and speech problems for another year or two.

"Not recently, no."

Strauss stared at him for a long minute. He kept his face impassive, calmly meeting her gaze.

"Good. Well, you'll be happy to hear that you've been fully reinstated so as of now, you reassume responsibility for the BAU team... I can't say that I don't have my doubts..."

"I'll be fine, M'am, as will the team. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I was ready or that I was putting my agents in danger."

Strauss looked at him sternly. "Then I just hope that we've both made the right decision." she said and turning on her heel, left the office.

Hotch released the breath that he hadn't even known that he was holding and sat back down in his chair. His eyes travelled over the pile of folders littering his desk and fell upon the unsolved file he'd brought in from home.

The agent frowned, fingering the folder. _'Something is still bugging me about this case...'_

He opened the file and began to read. He was so absorbed that he didn't hear Rossi knock and enter the room until a steaming cup of coffee was literally placed in front of his nose. He glanced up, his mind still swimming with the case details.

"Thanks..." he said absently.

"Whatcha reading Hotch?" asked Dave, wondering what so captivated his friend's attention.

Hotch pulled himself away from the file and took a sip from his mug. "The Cootes Store/Virginia killer case. Something has been bothering me about it but I can't seem to put my finger on it."

Rossi sat down and put his feet up on Aaron's desk. "Okay, talk to me."

"Well, I came up with the same profile that you all did..." Hotch began, digging out his hand-written notes.

"Of course you did." Rossi smiled slightly. "You need to give yourself more credit for your profiling talents, you know."

Hotch ignored him and continued. "But I had a couple of questions."

"Fire away."

The Unit Chief leaned forward to study one of the photographs. "Did you ever have the ink tested?"

Rossi frowned. "I believe that the crime lab report simply said it was permanent, black ink... Why?"

"Look at this photo, of the politician. See the slight smudge over her left breast?"

Dave took the photograph and examined it.

"Damn!" he breathed. "We missed it. And I can see what you're implying. A regular marker pen wouldn't have left something like this."

Hotch shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not but it might be worth checking. I'll get Garcia on it."

The older agent watched Hotch remove the other crime scene photos and line them up on his desk.

"What else, Aaron?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure." Hotch confessed. "But I think we're missing something obvious in the poses of the bodies."

The two men stared at the images for a few minutes. At last Rossi sat back and picked up his coffee.

"The eyes are open, the bodies on their backs. The unsub isn't showing any remorse..."

Hotch nodded grimly.

"But I think it's more than that, Dave. I think he's sending a message."

"Sure." Rossi agreed. "He's telling us he wants attention. He thinks that nudity will give him more limelight."

"Perhaps..."

"You're not convinced, are you?"

The younger agent shook his head.

"No... I think it's something more profound than that. This guy is intelligent and wants to be recognized as such. It isn't about trying to shock us; he'd know that wouldn't work."

Rossi thoughtfully stroked his goatee. "You've got a good point. So, what are other possibilities?

"Rape?"

"Nope, no evidence."

Hotch rested his head on one hand, thinking. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't still about sex..." he said slowly.

"Where are you going with this, Hotch?" Rossi sat up, intrigued.

"The unsub is a recognition-seeker. He's not having sex with the victims; it's the kill itself and subsequent media attention that gets him off."

Dave nodded. "Go on."

"But to maximize his fantasy, maybe he's stopping just short of rape... he puts the body into a pose in which he can imagine having sex, but then replaces the actual act with the writing..." Hotch frowned. "I'm not even sure I'm making sense."

Rossi was silent, pondering Hotch's idea. Suddenly, he grabbed the photographs and flipped through them one by one.

"I can't believe we didn't see it before!" he lamented. "Hotch, you're on to something here."

Hotch looked slightly bewildered. "I am?"

"Yes, look! All the victims are in the missionary position... to varying degrees so it is subtle, but it's there nevertheless!" He looked at his friend. "It finally explains the double MO... the partial suffocation was to get the victims aroused, not to kill them."

"And why we've never discovered the victims' clothing. He'd have to get rid of any evidence."

Something else occurred to Rossi.

"Hotch, if you're right and the writing is a substitute for the sexual act, there must be a greater connection to the Latin than an intelligence demonstration and message to us about his superiority."

"Agreed."

They sat in silence, each trying desperately to think of a plausible theory that could provide a break-through.

Hotch closed his eyes as the answer suddenly appeared. He tilted his head, his fingertips resting against his forehead and his brow furrowed. "Dave..."

He said it so quietly that his friend almost missed his name. Rossi looked sharply at the other agent. At first he thought that Hotch was going to have a migraine attack. Then he realized that the Unit Chief must be onto something. His eyes were sharp, the frown pronounced and the jaw tight. For his part, Aaron began flipping quickly through the contents of the folder, searching for a particular piece of paper. Finding it at last, he skimmed it before raising his head.

"He changed his message in the last killing." He said grimly, looking slightly disgusted. "'I want this. I order this.' The message is from the **victim's** point of view."

Rossi sat stunned for a moment as the implications slowly sank in.

"In the unsub's mind, the victims are asking to be killed..."

Hotch nodded, reaching for the phone. "Garcia? I need you to re-run some cross checks from the Cootes Store/Virginia case, please..."

Dave had risen from his chair. "I'll tell the others." he mouthed and left the office.

After he had finished talking to Garcia, Hotch decided that he should make a call to Gideon. Jason had been the one to bring the case to them and perhaps he would have an opinion or a suspect. The agent rifled through the file, pulled out the phone number and dialled. It was answered on the third ring.

"Hello?" said a familiar voice.

"Jason? Jason, its Aaron Hotchner. We've had some new progress in the case you worked recently..."

Aaron quickly replayed the brainstorming session he had had with Rossi. Gideon listened carefully, waiting until Hotch had finished before asking any questions. It was as though the two colleagues had never stopped working together; there was no awkwardness, only professionalism.

"So what do you think?" asked Hotch when Gideon seemed to have run out of questions.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Hotch waited patiently, remembering that Gideon tended to do his thinking in his head as opposed to out loud. Eventually, he heard an angry growl.

"I know who the unsub is... and I should have figured it out a lot earlier!"

"Don't go there, Jason. Don't do the 'what if' thing. You always told me to trust the profile and it wasn't wrong. Now who is your suspect?" Hotch demanded. He wasn't deliberately being aggressive but he wanted the ex-agent to snap out of any self-pitying he might be contemplating and help them to catch the killer.

"Hotch, do you remember when I used to give guest-lectures at the University of Maryland? They were primarily in the Criminology department for Dr. Cutler?"

"Vaguely, yes." replied Hotch. "You'd spend a day over there, lecturing and mentoring a grad student."

"Well" said Gideon, "one of those grad students had some very unorthodox views on serial killers and their victims. I've never forgotten him."

"Let me guess, he believed that somehow the victims were asking for it?"

A grunt from the other end of the line confirmed Hotch's assertion.

"I need a name, Gideon."

"Born Ian Williams but used his mother's name for publications: Ian Jacobs."

***

Hotch walked into the BAU room and immediately began issuing instructions knowing that Rossi had filled the team in on the latest developments.

"Dave, Reid, I'd like you to go to the University and interview not only Jacobs, but the Dean and any colleagues you can find. We need to find a trigger and a motive.

"Prentiss, Morgan, you're with me. We'll pay Jacobs a home visit.

"Garcia?"

"Yes, my Captain?"

"Garcia, I need you to dig up as much as you can about Jacobs, please. Remember, he could have gone by his father's name 'Williams' too; we don't know when or if he ever used it. See if he kept off the police radar by changing names. Pull off a list of publications and send to Reid; it will be quicker than waiting until we can ask the professor directly."

"Consider the dirt dug and the list sent, Sir." Garcia said, scribbling notes.

Hotch gave her a small nod as she turned to head down to her cave.

"Oh, and Sir?"

"What is it, Garcia?"

"It's good to have you back."

The Unit Chief looked slightly embarrassed.

"Thanks."

***

**BALTIMORE, MD.**

Morgan pushed the doorbell to #27 Privet Street. The two-storey house was large but non-descript, in a middle-to-upper class neighbourhood.

The door finally opened and a tall, thin woman in her forties stood in front of them.

"Mrs. Jacobs?" asked Hotch, pulling out his ID at the same time.

"My husband actually uses his father's name for everything except his work; we're 'Williams'."

"Mrs. Williams, my name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'm with the FBI. These are Agents Morgan and Prentiss. May we come in, please?"

The woman looked surprised but she let them in and then led the way into the living-room. When they were seated and had declined refreshments, she too sat down and eyed them suspiciously.

"M'am, we're actually here to see your husband." Hotch said. "Is he here?"

Mrs. Williams shook her head. "Ian left early this morning. I'm afraid that I don't know what time he'll be home. He told me he was going to do some writing; that usually means he will lose all track of time and not return until late evening." She smiled apologetically. "Such is the life of an academic."

She was obviously nervous and continued her rapid narrative. "I'm just so relieved that he is motivated to pick up his research again. He was horribly depressed after his accident."

Prentiss and Morgan exchanged a look. Hotch kept his face neutral as he asked, "I'm sorry to hear that. Was your husband injured badly?"

Mrs. Williams rolled her eyes. "Thankfully not. But Ian was very lucky. By all accounts he fell asleep at the wheel. He broke his leg, had bad whiplash and a slight concussion. When he got out of the hospital last week, he was horribly depressed but today he seemed to finally have figured out how fortunate he is to be alive. It was lovely to hear him humming again."

Hotch smiled indulgently. "Does he normally go to the University to do his writing?"

"I assume so. I'm a vet so I'm usually out all day too; it's never occurred to me to ask." She frowned. "Agents, may I ask what you want with Ian?"

"Mrs. Williams does your husband talk about his research with you?" asked Morgan, who had gotten up and was reading the book titles of the collection housed near the fireplace.

"No. We may talk about forensics or pharmacology, but to be honest, I really don't want to hear about serial killers."

"Understandable." Prentiss said.

"M'am, may I?" Morgan pointed at a series of titles all based on forensics.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Certainly, Agent. Help yourself."

Hotch felt his cell phone vibrating in his suit jacket pocket. Excusing himself, he went back outside.

"Yes Dave?"

"Hotch, Jacobs isn't here; hasn't been in at all today."

"Okay. He's not here either. Told his wife he was writing up research all day..."

"We need to find him fast. We talked to the Dean. Apparently our boy had his application for tenure rejected. The timing fits with the first murder."

"We've found our trigger."

"Yep. And Hotch?"

"Yeah?"

"Jacobs seems to be a passive aggressive. The Dean says that a lot of his colleague's papers have been mysteriously rejected; all from a single journal and Jacobs sits on its Editorial Board."

Rossi couldn't hear a reply yet the phone connection had seemed fine.

"Hotch?"

More silence.

"Hotch?.. Hotch??!"

What the older agent couldn't see was Hotch staggering to the SUV, one hand pressed against his temple. Fumbling with the keys, he finally opened a door and managed to haul himself into the vehicle. Moaning, he closed the door and with his free hand reached into his suit jacket. Hotch could hear Rossi calling his name, but couldn't formulate a reply through the jack-hammering in his head. He pulled the bottle of pills from his pocket but as he was trying to get the lid off, still with one hand, the container slipped from his fingers onto the floor.

'_Damn!'_ he thought, in agony. When he tried to bend forward the hammering increased so he gave up on the medication. Instead, he fell back against the seat, covering his eyes and hissing in frustration and pain.

"Hotch, I'm calling Morgan!" Rossi said into his phone. He hung up and immediately placed the call.

Back in the house, Prentiss had continued chatting with Mrs. Williams, trying to distract her while Morgan subtly worked his way through the row of forensic titles. He was hoping to find some notes, some piece of evidence within one of their pages but there was nothing to suggest they had been used to help plan a killing.

Morgan was just about to turn away from the bookcase and rejoin the conversation when a flash of red caught his eye on a lower shelf. It was coming from behind a series of tall, hard-covered Criminology journals. The agent removed the journals to reveal a photo album. Taking it off the shelf, he opened it and his jaw dropped.

The album was full of newspaper clippings, all about the Cootes Store/Virginia slayings. Even more damning was the series of photographs of the victims, post kill. Morgan continued to flip through the book. A lose piece of newsprint fell out.

Morgan bent down and picked it up. It was the story about Dr. Frenz's arrest. High praise had been given to the BAU, with Gideon and Rossi prominent as leaders and pioneers of the Unit. Gideon was lauded as one of the best profilers ever. What was disturbing, however, was the way that Gideon's name was circled in familiar black ink.

"Mrs. Williams, do you recognize this?" he interrupted the women's chat, holding up the album.

She looked over and shook her head. "I've never seen it before? What's in it?"

Morgan was saved from having to answer her by his cell ringing.

"Yeah Rossi?... What?!.... Okay, we're on our way! Prentiss, we need to go. Mrs. Williams, thank you for your time." He put the album back where he'd found it.

Prentiss read the look on Morgan's face and understood that the album contained valuable evidence.

"Morgan, I'll stay, you go. I'll explain things to Mrs. Williams..." Prentiss gave the woman what she hoped was a slightly reassuring smile.

Morgan nodded and was gone. Running out to the SUV he could see Hotch slumped over in the back seat. He yanked open the door on the opposite side.

"Hotch?! How can I help??!"

Hotch briefly took his hand away from his temple to point towards the floor. Derek saw the pill bottle. He retrieved it, popped the lid and placed two tablets into Hotch's mouth.

"Here you go boss."

Hotch swallowed the pills but otherwise didn't move.

Morgan had heard from Sean that there was really no way to help Aaron during an attack, other than to reassure him and try to keep out as much light as possible. He was thankful of the SUV's window tinting. He decided to try distraction.

"Boss, we've got him. I found an album in the house. It's got photographs of all the bodies and looks like all the newspaper articles too...

"Hotch, we gotta call Gideon, he might be in danger!"

"Number in cell..." Hotch winced and groaned. "...my jacket..."

Derek gently reached inside of Hotch's suit and pulled out the cell phone. He found Gideon's number and hit speed dial. Several seconds passed.

"Dammit!!!" exclaimed Morgan in frustration. "No answer!"

"Must... go... You... drive."

"Hotch, you're in no condition to travel!"

Hotch took his hand away from his eyes to glare at Morgan. "No time to argue... Drive. I'll be fine in a few minutes... Get Rossi to meet us picnic at the heliport."

Morgan looked sharply at the older agent. He'd caught the 'Hotchism'. But Hotch was right, they needed to act fast. He jumped into the driver's seat and the SUV was soon speeding back towards Quantico, sirens blaring and the Unit Chief gritting his teeth and trying desperately not to pass out from the pain in his head.

***


	22. Chapter 22

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****22**

**CABIN NEAR COOTES STORE.**

Whistling, Jason Gideon tucked his bag of groceries under one arm and closed the trunk of his jeep. He had just returned from his weekly trip into Cootes Store and was looking forward to creating another masterpiece in the kitchen with his fresh supplies.

As he rummaged in his pockets for his keys, Jason looked appreciatively at his cabin. A bungalow built entirely of wood, it sat in a small clearing; a forest surrounded the property and the only way in was via a single track dirt road. Similar to his first cabin, Gideon had numerous security cameras strategically set up along the track but the ex-agent wasn't particularly concerned with unwanted visitors; few people knew where he had ended up after leaving the FBI.

Entering the cabin, he hung up the keys on a rack and went into the kitchen. The cabin was small and cozy. The front door entered directly into the open-planned cooking area and living-room. A small hallway led from the kitchen to a bedroom and bathroom.

After putting the groceries away, Gideon put on some music and pulled a bottle of wine from a rack near the doorway. Rolling up his sleeves, he got out the ingredients for dinner and began its preparation. There was something about creating a meal from scratch that had always helped to soothe him. Not that he needed much soothing. Aaron's breakthrough had finally unlocked the nagging piece to the puzzle in his head. By now Ian Jacobs would be in custody and everyone could begin the process of healing.

'_Aaron's breakthrough.'_

Jason smiled. He was incredibly proud of his old partner's recovery from what could only be described as a hellish nightmare. Hearing Hotch's voice on the phone had been a wonderful surprise, even if it was for professional reasons. Gideon vowed to make good on his earlier intentions and visit the Unit Chief on his next trip to Quantico.

He turned the stove down to allow his concoction to simmer and opened the wine. Pouring himself a glass, Gideon took it to the kitchen table and sat down. He closed his eyes and felt himself relaxing as he let the music take control of his senses...

Instinct told him that he was not alone but it was too late for the ex-agent to act. Gideon had started to stand up but was forcefully pushed back down. He could feel the cold steel of a gun barrel against his head.

"Hello Jason." came a voice from behind him.

"Ian."

A chuckle. "So you've finally figured it out... too late but better now than never I suppose."

Gideon saw a roll of duct tape appear on the table and heard the safety released on the gun. Jacobs had backed up so that his hostage couldn't take him by surprise and use the chair as a weapon.

"Tape your legs to the chair... tightly." The professor ordered.

Jason slowly unwound the tape and secured his legs to the chair. "You know you won't shoot me, Ian. It isn't your style..."

"Don't kid yourself, Jason. I have waited a long time for this moment, but it really doesn't matter how you die, as long as you do. Now, drop the roll of tape on the floor and put your hands around the back of the chair."

Gideon calmly obeyed. He needed to buy time; he had to believe that Hotch and the team would figure out Jacobs' ultimate plan and be on their way.

Jacobs pulled off a length of tape so that he could keep one hand on his gun. Swiftly he secured the ex-agent's hands. Once he had checked the tape and was satisfied that his prisoner could no longer escape, Jacobs pulled him into the middle of the living-room. He then sat down on the couch regarding Jason through beady green eyes. Gideon then noticed the latex gloves and thought he looked remarkably composed and confident; it didn't bode well.

'_Hurry up, Hotch. Please...' _

"So." began Jacobs conversationally. "How did you know it was me?"

Gideon was relieved. The Professor seemed in no hurry. All that was needed was a feeding of the man's need for recognition.

"The basketball player. Your message was from his point of view, not yours."

Jacobs smiled. "Excellent. But I am disappointed that it took such an obvious clue for you to make the connection." He shook his head. "And they say that you're one of the best profilers of all time... tsk tsk."

"Now that the BAU knows the truth, killing me will not give you what you want."

"Oh?" said Jacobs in mock surprise. "And just what is that, Agent Gideon?"

"You'd like me to admit that I was wrong about you back then and that you're too smart for me. You also want to be known as a serial killer who evaded capture from the FBI. None of these things will happen."

Ian laughed a loud mocking laugh.

"Come come Jason. You will be dead and I'll be long gone before your beloved ex-colleagues figure out where you live. You see, that's the problem with losing touch with your friends and not leaving a forwarding address..." he smirked then continued. "As my parting gift to you, old chum, I'd like to ensure you understand 'why' you'll die. You asked for it, obviously, but beyond that."

Jason looked impassively at his captor. "I know 'why'. You're a passive aggressive sociopath, a Machiavellian with an extreme sense of entitlement and a vindictive narcissist. I knew there was something not quite right about you then; I just underestimated how disturbed you would become."

Jacobs' face turned purple and he rose in fury.

"Disturbed?! For a man who has failed so miserably in finding me, you now think you can profile me?" he hissed.

Gideon continued to gaze calmly at the professor. This further fuelled the killer's temper but with great effort he sat back on the couch.

"I've had a wonderful career and have earned the right to be recognized for my hard work! You spent only one day with me and I was just a grad student, how dare you propose to know me!"

Gideon was unmoved. "You haven't changed a bit. I could never understand why Dr. Zeuke was so fond of you but he wouldn't listen to my warnings; he said you were the best grad student he'd had in years. We know better now, don't we Ian? You won all those awards and graduated summa cum laude because you sabotaged your colleagues' research. That way your findings always won out. You continue to do so today, but it is easier since you've become Chief Editor of the biggest Criminology journal in circulation." He chuckled. "So forgive me if I don't think that you're the best in your field..."

"You're just jealous!" spat Ian. "I won numerous awards internationally; colleagues agreed with my conclusions!"

"Yes." agreed Gideon. "For awhile you were the star. But then what happened? Colleagues catch on? Did they begin to see just how sick your theories surrounding victimology really are?"

"They are not just theory! Surely the past few months have taught you that?!"

Jason shook his head in sadness. "No. Those eight people died because of your deluded fantasy."

"No Jason. They died because of you. As I've tried to teach you, people like these **want** to be tortured and victimized; it arouses them sexually. It is **they** who put themselves into such situations. They came willingly so that you might learn...

"Thus it is those eight people that are the true perpetrators; they forced me to commit such acts. Non est mea culpa. 'It's not my fault'."

He paused to watch his captive's reaction. Gideon wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. He knew that Jacobs would show no remorse and truly believed in his fantasy. All Jason could do now was to continue to stall for time.

"I'm curious, Ian. Why the geographical change? All this for me?"

Jacobs seemed to relax. He returned to the sofa.

"I thought that you might appreciate the subtlety but it seems it was lost on you entirely... so sad..." He looked for a long time at Gideon and then suddenly smiled.

"But enough chit-chat. Our time together is coming to a conclusion. You already know how you will die, but since you won't be able to read the inscription, I'll let you in on the secret..."

As he spoke, Jacobs got up and reached into his jacket pockets. He pulled out a large clear plastic bag, a small ink bottle and pen. Setting the ink and pen on the sofa, he moved to stand behind Gideon. Jason closed his eyes, still hoping that a BAU member would crash through his door. Concomitantly, he wracked his brains for a way out; he had defeated the 'Footpath Killer' when he'd had a shotgun to his head...

Jacobs began fitting the bag over Gideon's head. Jason could smell something odd and began to struggle, rocking the chair in his attempts to keep his face free of the plastic. But the professor was stronger than he looked. When the bag was at the level of the ex-agent's ears, Jacobs leaned forward and whispered,

"'Factum est.' my dear Agent Gideon. 'It is done'.

"You will be able to hear me awhile longer, but unable to move I'm afraid. It is so wonderful to be married to a vet and have access to all the different drugs out there. Oh don't worry agent, although you cannot move, you will FEEL everything!" He smirked again.

Gideon stopped struggling as the bag was fitted over the rest of his head and tried to hold his breath instead. Jacobs saw what he was doing and laughed, pulling the bag slightly tighter. He could feel himself becoming aroused already. He had been looking forward to this day for so long but he must be careful not to cut off too much oxygen...

Jason could hardly believe that his life was going to end this way. He could feel the effects of the drug begin to take place; he could no longer control his muscles. His mind began to drift and his vision became blurry as his oxygen-deprived brain slowly shut down.

Gideon was semi-conscious when the bag was lifted from his head. He heard the sound of a knife removing the duct tape that had been holding him to the chair. Without the use of his muscles, he started to topple over but Jacobs deftly caught his captive and lowered him to the floor on his back. Every fibre of Jason's being attempted to fight but under the influence of the drug it was useless. He felt his clothing cut off and his arms and legs placed neatly into position.

It occurred to the ex-agent that the profilers had also gotten the ordering of the signature incorrect.

'_He writes __**before**__ he strangles...'_ he thought groggily.

As if on cue, Jacobs prepared for the next step in his ritual. He returned the chair to its rightful place in the kitchen and put the bag back in his jacket pocket. Retrieving the writing implements from the couch and humming to himself, he knelt down next to Gideon and dipped the pen into the ink pot. Smiling broadly now, he slowly penned in the letters, savouring each stroke as an artist would. Every now and again he would glance up at Jason's face and laugh. Gideon could see the man's arousal and was disgusted.

Ten agonizing minutes passed. Gideon almost looked forward to the impending darkness; it would be better than this violation of his body. Still semi-conscious, he was vaguely aware that Jacobs had finished and was cleaning up his scene.

Jason gathered his strength and willed himself to be rescued. _'Hotch!'_

Another minute went by. Jacobs appeared once again in Gideon's line of vision. Putting his gun within easy reach, he straddled the prone figure, being careful to avoid the inked chest. Jason could feel the erection of his captor and the gloved hands being placed around his throat. The professor smiled manically and began to squeeze...

***


	23. Chapter 23

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****23**

**VIRGINIA.**

For the first time in his life, SSA Aaron Hotchner was glad of traffic congestion. It forced the driver to reduce speed thereby lessening the bumps and jack-hammering in his head. The pills were finally starting to work and the latest attack was beginning to clear. He sighed in relief; the episodes were getting shorter.

SSA Derek Morgan on the other hand, detested slow-moving vehicles and was cursing and leaning on the SUV's horn. Even with the sirens going, they weren't making much progress.

"Come on!" he shouted at no one in particular.

Hotch cringed. "Morgan... please..."

"Sorry... Look Hotch, I'm gonna drop you off at the BAU so you can rest your head. I'll call-..."

"Please drive straight to the heliport, Agent Morgan." Hotch's tone left no room for argument. "And have Emily get in touch with the local police. We need a warrant for that album you found."

Morgan scowled and bit back a retort. Instead, he dialled Prentiss' cell.

Thus it was that when they finally arrived at the heliport thirty minutes later Derek was in a foul mood, made worse by Hotch's insistence that he was well enough to travel.

Rossi, Reid and JJ were waiting for them. Dave looked critically at the Unit Chief.

"You look like crap." He said bluntly. "You should go back to the BAU. Let us take care of this."

Hotch responded with a grunt and a glare, not even breaking stride. "I'm fine, let's go. Jacobs already has a big head start."

Morgan was still hitting speed-dial on Hotch's cell. "Dammit, he still doesn't answer!"

"Have Garcia keep trying while we're in the air." ordered Hotch, taking the steps up to the helicopter two at a time.

It wasn't until the team were all seated and they were leaving the ground that it occurred to Aaron that the last time he had been in the air, he had almost died. He glanced down at his hands, which he'd unconsciously wrapped tightly around the arm rests. He let go to put on the headset and caught JJ watching him, a concerned look on her face.

"It's okay." He mouthed. She smiled sympathetically and nodded, although she didn't look convinced.

The flight to the nearest clearing around Cootes Store took about forty minutes. Sheriff Tucker greeted the team upon landing.

"We've got an SUV for you all ready to go. I'll lead in an unmarked car. We'll need to pull off just before the turnoff to Jason's cabin and go the rest of the way on foot to be unnoticed."

Hotch nodded his approval and agreement.

"I sent two officers to the cabin as soon as I got the message." the Sheriff went on bleakly. "We'd have been out there sooner but it's my day off and my cell doesn't get any reception out on the lake... and we only had a volunteer manning the phone..."

"No cell reception! That explains why we can't get through to Gideon." snapped Morgan in frustration.

"Let's get going." Hotch led the way towards the SUV, Kevlar in hand. Surprisingly, he relinquished the driving to Morgan. In truth, he was still slightly nauseous and wanted to be able to concentrate solely on the case. The team could use the drive to get caught up on the latest developments.

"I've still got cell reception, Hotch. I'll get Garcia on speaker phone." said Reid, reading the Unit Chief's mind.

"Thanks, Reid."

Once they were on the road, Hotch turned towards the cell phone. "Garcia, tell us about Jacobs."

"Your wish is my command dear Captain. Okay, so when we last left our slimy friend, he was Ian Jacobs née Ian Williams. From what I've dug up, it seems that his father left the family when Ian was only 3 years old. He then disappears off the radar which is no big deal because he was kinda creepy too...

"Garcia, focus please." said Hotch.

"Yes, sorry Sir. Ian was an only child and apparently doted on by his mother. He took her name, Jacobs, through school and has kept it for his professional career. But when he started University, he assumed the name Williams for everything else."

"Why would he use both names?" mused JJ.

Rossi shrugged. "Worked out well for him later, didn't it? It allowed him to keep his career separate from his personal life. Or maybe he didn't want to share his professional name with his new bride?"

"And using 'Williams' is how he managed to avoid my detection after his car accident." bemoaned Garcia.

"It's okay baby doll. His injuries forced him into an extended cooling off period anyway." Morgan tried to reassure the Technical Analyst.

"Morgan's right, Garcia." Hotch added gently, "You couldn't have known and we didn't suspect a second name. Please continue."

Regaining her confidence, Garcia pressed on. "As we already know, dear crime fighters, Jacobs was spoiled and his school reports list him as a brilliant but difficult teenager. He had ADHD and a superiority complex. His attendance record was far from exemplary. Yet he got into the University of Maryland to major in Criminology and later did a Master's degree."

"Which is how he met Gideon." Hotch supplied. "Jason used to guest lecture for a friend of his there, and would often spend a day with some of the grad students. Apparently Gideon had misgivings about Jacobs from the first handshake."

Rossi glanced at Aaron. "Gideon was always known for his instincts... Well, it explains why Jacobs became obsessed by him. He didn't like the fact that Jason didn't blow hot air up his ass and being the vindictive narcissist he is, blames Gideon for everything that has gone wrong since."

Hotch frowned and nodded grimly. "Also seems to have gotten past the ADHD... Anything else, Garcia?"

"Yes, Sir. Our newly graduated boy (summa cum laude no less) had the pick of schools but he chose to stay at Maryland. His bio shows a lot of awards, guest lectures and publications early on but nothing in the last few years..."

"That's what kissed his tenure goodbye." Rossi said. "Lack of research activity and the accusations of tampering with colleagues' results."

"So the loss of tenure was the trigger for Jacobs and he chose to direct his fury at Gideon..." Morgan shook his head in disbelief. "Reid, did I hear you say something about him being a bit of a passive bully?"

Reid leaned forward from the back seat. "Yes. According to the Dean and some of his colleagues we talked to, his reputation with fellow faculty has been going downhill for awhile. It's starting to effect the reputation of the Department so everyone is trying to distance themselves from Jacobs and his extreme views regarding victimology."

"He's now seen as a liability to the department." added Rossi. "Everyone we spoke to shuddered at the mere mention of his name."

"One more thing Garcia..." Hotch had forgotten all about Jacob's MO but the word 'victimology' had reminded him.

"Sir?"

"Did anything come back on the ink?"

"Yes my exalted leader! It is very rare and must be imported from South America. I checked into Jacob's credit card records and was able to find a trail of orders. His demand increased just before the first murder."

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look. If only they had thought to check earlier. Dave sighed.

"AND forensics was able to match this ink to that document that Reid obtained from Jacobs when he first interviewed him."

"Good work Garcia. We'll be in touch." Hotch signalled to Reid to end the call.

Soon all cell phone signals were lost as the vehicles navigated a series of steep switchbacks. The area was heavily forested, mountainous, beautiful... and isolated. It was clear why it had attracted Jason Gideon. Another five minutes and the Sheriff's car signalled, indicating they were approaching the turn- off to Gideon's cabin. Derek also pulled over and shut off the engine. They could see a police car parked nearby.

"Can you contact your officers?" asked Rossi as everyone donned their flak jackets.

The Sheriff looked sickened. "I've been trying. They should have reported in ages ago."

The BAU team members exchanged glances. Hotch looked focussed and immediately took charge.

"Sheriff, you and JJ will set up a perimeter here. I know Jacobs is probably on foot having parked somewhere else, but I don't want him slipping through our fingers the easy way. Sheriff, I think we have to assume that your officers won't be of use to us and we're on our own for the time being.

He put the communicator's transmitter into his ear. "When we get closer to the cabin Dave, I want you and Reid to take the back. Morgan and I will cover the front. Any questions?"

There was a shaking of heads, drawing of weapons and the team began to make their way cautiously and as inconspicuously as possible up the track. At the last bunch of trees before the cabin, they stopped. They could see Gideon's jeep parked only ten feet away. Hotch pointed silently to Reid and to the left and to Rossi and to the right. The two agents nodded in understanding and slowly circled the cabin in opposite directions, staying under cover of the trees.

The Unit Chief raised a questioning eyebrow at Morgan, who nodded. They made a quick dash for the jeep. Everything was eerily quiet. Morgan looked at his boss and pointed to the only visible window. Hotch nodded. Running in a tuck position, Derek sprinted the four feet from the jeep to crouch below the sill. Slowly, carefully he inched his head above the sill and peered through the glass. Hotch watched the younger agent's expression. He saw the sudden anger, mixed with disgust and hatred. Morgan was already murmuring into his communicator at his wrist and approaching the door all in one fluid motion. He looked at Hotch, who braced himself, gun pointing forwards. The older agent counted down silently, mouthing '3 – 2 - 1...'

"FBI!" shouted Hotch as Morgan kicked in the door and the two agents rushed inside.

***

It only took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim light of the inside of the cabin, but it was enough time for Jacobs to pick up his gun. It was pressed against Jason Gideon's temple when Hotch and Morgan came into the living-room. The Unit Chief quickly assessed the situation. Gideon lay naked on his back, feet closest to the agents. His eyes were open but blank. Aaron could see the fresh ink on Jason's chest but was also relieved to see that chest rising and falling. Jacobs was crouched at the head, the back wall of the cabin behind him. He faced the agents with a wry smile across his lips. His body was relaxed although Hotch detected mania and arrogance in his eyes as they moved alertly between the two men.

"Jason was expecting you earlier, Agents." He grinned. "But I'm afraid that you've messed up again... you're too late."

"No we're not Jacobs." snarled Morgan. "He's still breathing. Now put down the gun before I blow your fucking head off."

Jacobs laughed. "Temper temper, Agent Morgan! Trust me your friend will not be breathing for very long. I'd had a good head start before you arrived. And if you shoot me, then you know my last accomplishment will be to pull this trigger."

Hotch knew that he needed to act quickly if they were to get Gideon out alive. But he realized that the ex-agent's life was the only bargaining chip remaining to Jacobs... if he cared. Aaron ran over the profile in his head.

'_Vindictive narcissist, Machiavellian with huge sense of entitlement, sociopath and recognition-seeker... Jacobs would want to survive to read the press coverage.'_

Keeping his gun raised, Hotch addressed the gunman. "Professor Jacobs, I believe? My name is Aaron Hotchner. I'm the Chief of the BAU."

Jacobs ran an appraising eye up and down the dark-haired agent. The name sounded vaguely familiar, something he had read in the paper.

"You're the one who survived a plane crash." He said, looking slightly more impressed. "Tell me Agent Hotchner, what do you think about your team arresting the wrong man? I hope for the sake of the FBI that you're more competent than they are... But if Gideon is the benchmark, then I fear I'll be disappointed."

Hotch continued to stare down the Academic. "We're here aren't we? And you're under arrest."

Jacobs laughed again. "I think that you have forgotten that it is I who has the upper hand... I literally control this man's life. Look around you, Agent. No place for snipers and as I've already mentioned, the minute either of you decides to pull the trigger, so will I."

He waited for a reaction from the leader and was surprised when the agent didn't flinch. Instead, the Unit Chief took a step towards the killer, his eyes never leaving Ian's face.

"You're wasting my time, Jacobs. We both know that you won't pull that trigger. Hand me the gun, this is over." Hotch inched forward another step.

Morgan looked at his boss and at the professor. He wanted to trust that Hotch knew what he was doing. However, he couldn't forget the fact that a mere couple of hours earlier his supervisor was paralyzed by the latest attack on his brain. Derek figured that there must still be lingering effects; Hotch was simply hiding them. Every part of Morgan just wanted to shout at his boss, tell him to stop putting his life at risk. And yet at the hospital in Kansas he had told Hotch that he trusted him. Derek desperately wanted to live up to that trust... He took a firmer grip on his gun ready to shoot if Jacobs' finger so much as moved on the trigger.

But then Morgan knew that it wouldn't be necessary. He had caught the slight hesitation in Jacobs' face at hearing the Unit Chief's words before it was immediately stifled, covered by a chuckle.

'_Hotch was right!'_ he thought triumphantly.

Jacobs was still taunting Aaron. "I guess when you cheat death once, you feel that you can play roulette and win all the time... A good profiler would know that I certainly WOULD kill your colleague."

Hotch took another step. His expression was cold and his body language depicted a calm man in complete control of the situation.

"You chose your words carefully, Professor. Yes, you would kill Gideon. But you won't shoot him. You understand all too well that if you pull that trigger, it will be the last thing you ever do... And that would also mean you wouldn't be around to reap the glory. The press will have a field day with this. Do you really want to miss your hour of fame?"

"You underestimate me, Agent Hotchner. It will be so much more than an hour! I've defeated the alleged best profiler the FBI has ever produced!"

"All the more reason for you to hand over the gun. And if Gideon lives, he'll be disgraced..."

Jacobs eyes blazed with passion. "Yes! Of course he will! I will finally get the recognition I deserve and HE will be a nobody."

Hotch slowly held out one hand. "Then give me the gun. I guarantee you that you'll get your media limelight."

The professor looked carefully at the agent. "Do I have your word, Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes."

Jacobs looked down at Gideon, still unmoving. "You see Gideon, even your colleagues know who is superior... the Imperator!" And with that, he slowly dropped the gun and got up from his knees, smiling arrogantly.

Morgan had the Academic in handcuffs in seconds and called for Rossi and Reid, who had been waiting outside not wanting to upset what was considered a hostage situation. Upon entering the cabin, Dave immediately took in the scene and knew what was required. He got a blanket from the bedroom and placed it discreetly over the man on the floor.

"Help is on its way Hotch, the Sheriff has called for an ambulance." Rossi reported.

Hotch had knelt down next to Gideon, making sure that he was still breathing. He acknowledged the news and now looked into his old friend's eyes, suspecting that he could still be heard.

"Jason? It's Hotch. It's all over, you're safe now. Stay with me, please." he said soothingly, grasping one of Gideon's hands in his own and using his other to monitor the injured man's pulse.

Reid stood uncertainly next to the couch. Part of him wanted to comfort his old mentor but Hotch and Rossi seemed to have it covered. He shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly.

Hotch looked up and saw the young agent's discomfort. "Reid, would you help Morgan and JJ, please?"

Reid was relieved to have been given instructions, if a little vague. He nodded and headed outside. There he watched as Morgan unceremoniously shoved Jacobs into a squad car, slamming the door. He went to stand by JJ, who was waiting for the ambulance.

"You okay, Spence?" she asked, thinking that he looked a little bit lost. "I hear that we got here in time, that Gideon is alive..."

Reid nodded, hands in his pockets. "I'm fine JJ. I just wish we'd been able to save those officers; they were only around my age..."

Sadly, the area around the cabin had become an additional crime scene. The two officers originally sent by the Sheriff to warn Gideon had been found strangled, their bodies dumped behind a woodpile in back of the cabin.

JJ looked towards the car holding Jacobs. He was still grinning.

"He's killed two law-enforcement officers and a fireman, not to mention 7 other people. He'll never see the light of day again." She said, hoping that a life-sentence would help to comfort Reid even though she herself was unconvinced.

Reid shrugged. "Sometimes that isn't enough... you know?"

JJ put her hand on his arm briefly. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes this job just sucks."

***

_A/N : __There IS another chapter and I promise I'll post soon. Please review and thank you for your comments so far!  
_


	24. Chapter 24

_I don't own CM or any of its characters although I wish I did!_

_***_

**Chapter ****24**

It was a quiet drive from Cootes Store to the hospital in Baltimore. Sheriff Tucker had gladly let the agents borrow the SUV. Hotch had left Rossi and JJ behind to tie up any loose ends; they would take the helicopter back to Quantico when they had finished. Reid had wanted to accompany Aaron to the hospital and Hotch had seen no reason to deny his request. He was slightly surprised when Morgan asked to come too, under the guise of SUV driver.

Hotch put his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He was mentally exhausted but the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and preventing him from sleeping. Loosening his tie slightly, he thought of how fortunate they'd been.

'_Another minute or two and Gideon would have been dead...'_

Morgan glanced over at his boss, concerned. It was very unlike the Unit Chief to so willingly give up car keys and he did look unnaturally pale. Between the migraine attack and subsequent hostage events, Hotch's brain had had a workout.

"You okay Hotch?" he asked quietly so as not to attract Reid's attention. The youngest profiler was sitting in the backseat, staring out the window lost in his own thoughts.

"I'm fine Morgan."

They drove on in silence.

A short time later, Hotch's cell phone rang. He pulled it out, looked at the number and groaned inwardly.

"Hotchner...

"M'am... Yes, Jacobs has been arrested and Gideon is being transported to Mt. Siskin in Baltimore... Agents Rossi and Jareau are doing that... We're all fine M'am... No, I didn't..."

He stifled a sigh.

"I don't think that's really necessary... As you wish... Of course, first thing tomorrow... Good-bye."

Morgan saw his boss' jaw clench as he returned his cell to his suit jacket pocket. "Strauss?"

"Uh huh." Hotch looked over at Derek. "She wanted to know if I'd handled the negotiation with Jacobs... I think she was hoping I'd messed it up and lost control of my speech so she can finally get rid of me. Now she wants me to meet with one of the doctors... for my own good, of course."

Derek bristled. "Of course you handled the negotiation, who else was gonna do it??! And you were great! If anything was going to trigger a 'Hotchism', this was it and there was not one misplaced word. Not one. Hotch, you just get her to come and talk to any one of us if she or this doc gives you any trouble."

The Unit Chief smiled slightly. "Thanks." he murmured, shutting his eyes once again and trying to rest.

***

**MT. SISKIN HOSPITAL, BALTIMORE.**

Hotch stood in the small waiting room, arms folded across his chest. Morgan had gone to get them some food. Reid sat perfectly still, his face expressionless. Jason Gideon was in the ER, a team of doctors working to stabilize his vital signs and detoxify his system from the drug Jacobs had administered via the plastic bag.

Aaron looked at Reid out of the corner of his eye. Spencer had barely spoken since they left Cootes Store. The older agent moved to sit down next to the genius.

"Reid, he's going to be fine."

Reid nodded politely but avoided meeting his boss' eyes. The two men sat quietly for a few minutes.

"Um... Hotch?" Reid said tentatively.

Hotch raised his head questioningly.

"When Gideon left... How... um... How did you feel about it?"

Reid's hands fidgeted. He wondered whether he'd overstepped the line and how Hotch would react. Hotch sighed heavily and leaned forward on his elbows.

"Then or now?" he finally asked.

Reid bit his lip. "Both."

The older agent considered the question. "Reid, I can't tell you how to feel about Gideon. I don't want my opinion to influence you. This is something that you have to figure out for yourself." He said firmly but gently.

Spencer turned his head towards his supervisor. Hotch could see the pain and confusion which had lain dormant for months now appearing in the young man's eyes.

"Please Hotch. I... I'd really like to know..."

The Unit Chief stared at his subordinate for a few long seconds. He chose his words carefully.

"Reid, none of us is perfect. You know as well as I do the stresses and horrors of this job. Each of us copes with things differently and we all have a breaking point. Jason reached his. Who am I to judge how he dealt with it? If Frank had killed Jack, would I have done any better..?" he trailed off.

Reid thought about this for awhile.

"I understand why he needed to leave, Hotch, but not how he left... without a word to any of us... but especially not to you or me..."

"Yes..." Hotch said softly. He was silent for a minute then added, "I know he hurt you Reid. But that was then. This is now. You need to decide whether or not you are able to forgive him and then whatever choice you make, move on."

The young genius hung his head, thinking. Hotch had avoided answering directly but his body language suggested that he too, had been greatly stung by Gideon's departure. Reid was going to say something further but the arrival of Morgan and a doctor stopped him.

The doctor consulted a chart. "You're with Jason Gideon?" she asked.

"Yes." replied Hotch, standing.

"Mr. Gideon is very fortunate; you got there just in time. His airway is severely bruised but there is no permanent damage. He will need to take it easy for a few weeks but he'll make a full recovery. We'll keep him for a couple of days until he can eat properly and we're sure the effects of the drugs have passed then he'll be free to go."

"May we see him, doctor?" asked Hotch.

"Yes, but he is still under the influence of the drugs so don't expect too much."

"Understood, thank you." Hotch turned to Reid. "Would you like to go first?"

Reid shook his head. "You go, Hotch. I uh... I..."

"Its okay kid, we'll eat lunch." Morgan held up the paper bag.

Hotch looked at Reid for a moment, then turned and followed the doctor.

***

Entering Gideon's room, Aaron thought that the ex-agent simply looked like he was asleep. There were no wires or tubes like he himself had endured, only an IV line and an ECG monitor fastened to the end of a finger. However, Hotch could make out the heavy bruising on Jason's neck which was beginning to appear from under the top of the hospital gown. He approached the bed and sat in the visitor's chair.

Gideon must have heard his approach, because he opened his eyes and was able to move his head a little in Hotch's direction.

Hotch smiled slightly. "Good to see that you're awake and moving on your own, Jason. The doctor says you'll be fine in a few weeks."

A slight nod.

Seeing that he was understood, Hotch decided to fill him in on the Jacob's 'confession'. At the Cootes Store police station, the Professor had agreed to talk to Rossi and Sheriff Tucker and Dave had called to fill the Unit Chief in on the details.

"We found more evidence at Jacobs' house. Once Prentiss had obtained the warrant, she was able to take the album which contained photographs of all the bodies and every newspaper article written on the case, not to mention you... some of them dated back a decade; he's been after you for some time."

Hotch watched Jason's face carefully to make sure that he wasn't overloading the patient. But Gideon was gazing fixedly at Aaron, eyes very alert. So the agent continued,

"He seems to have perfected breaking & entering during his teenage years. That skill is what helped him to steal the drug from his wife's veterinarian clinic. It also how he managed to plant the latex gloves in Erik Frenz' house. The single cuff-link you found with Frenz was coincidental, as was his link with Cootes Store; it turns out that Frenz was having an affair with a student and wanted to keep it quiet."

A small, sad sigh came from Gideon.

"Anyway," said Hotch, leaning back in the chair, "it was a helluva welcome back and I'm glad it's over."

He paused. "You always did like to challenge me didn't you Jason." he said slyly. "Promise you won't bring me any cases from now on, okay?"

Gideon actually smiled at that. Aaron yawned and started to get up.

"You need your rest and frankly, so do I. I'll come and see you again before you go back to the cabin."

Hotch hadn't taken two steps before a gurgling noise caused him to turn around in alarm.

"Jason??!"

Gideon was trying to say something. Hotch put his ear close to Jason's mouth so the older man could whisper.

"Knew... you'd come... Proud of you... Hotch... You're stronger... than me... I should have... called..."

Aaron shook his head. "I forgave you a long time ago. You needed to find your own way; it wasn't for me to judge although admittedly it hurt like hell at the time."

The ex-agent hadn't finished. "I'm sorry Hotch... And Reid..?"

Hotch frowned. "I don't know Jason... He was terribly hurt by the suddenness of your leaving. I'm not sure how he feels beyond that. I'd guess your return dug up some old emotions... give him time Gideon, but if you're serious about reconnecting, you'll have to make the first move."

Gideon sighed and closed his eyes. Hotch didn't want to speak on Spencer's behalf so he took the opportunity to leave and return to his colleagues in the waiting room.

***

"If you want to see Gideon, he's awake and alert." Hotch said, coming back into the waiting room where a waft of French-fry aroma reminded him that he hadn't eaten in over eight hours. "Hey, any more of that?"

Morgan grinned, reached under his seat and pulled out the paper bag. "We tried to keep it warm."

"Thanks." Hotch took the bag and sat down. Between mouthfuls he looked at Reid. "Reid, you don't have to visit Jason. We can go back to Quantico as soon as I finish."

Reid didn't reply right away but then seemed to come to a decision. "I'll be back in a few minutes." he said and left his colleagues to their food.

***

Five minutes later found Reid standing uncertainly at Gideon's door. The patient's eyes were closed. Spencer watched the man breathe for a moment. He was going to leave but as he turned to go, Gideon's eyes opened and he smiled.

"Dr. Reid..."

"You're not supposed to talk." said Reid stiffly, still standing in the doorway.

Gideon moved his head dismissively. "Glad... you came."

Spencer wasn't sure how pleased he was but came into the room and sat in the visitor's chair. His hands fidgeted on his lap. He still wasn't sure why exactly he **had** come. Part of it was curiosity, to see what explanation Gideon would give for his manner of departure, if any. Part of it was for 'closure', if one believed in that aspect of psychology; Reid had yet to make up his mind. And part of it was in hopes of receiving some kind of apology although his gut told him to forget about that.

Reid felt Gideon's eyes upon him; he lifted his head but refused to make eye contact.

"You're... upset with me..." Jason remarked quietly.

Reid said nothing.

Gideon watched the youngster for a minute then tried again. "Don't... blame you... You... deserved better."

That did it. Finally the dam burst. Months of pent-up emotions came pouring out. Reid's hands were moving in agitated circles.

"The **team** deserved better, Gideon! **Hotch** deserved better! He was your friend! We all needed you and depended on you and you just disappeared!"

"My letter..."

"You think leaving a letter constituted a good-bye?!!" Spencer's voice pitch was becoming higher as his volume rose.

"Hotch was suspended; did you even care about that?!! Even care that he could have lost his career over you?!! Did you think about where that left the rest of us??! Okay, so you gave me an explanation, if you can call it that. But I thought we were closer... I thought that you respected me enough to tell me man to man!

He drew in another breath and exploded again, "I get it, you know. I get that you had to go, to get away from the BAU. But not that way..!"

Gideon made no attempt to stop the tirade. It had been brewing for a long time and if they were going to repair their relationship, Reid needed to get this out. Besides, Gideon thought, what could he say in his own defence? In retrospect, he had been selfish. He hadn't stayed to make sure the team would be alright.

'_Why didn't I stay..?'_

Because he had had complete confidence in them, that's why. He'd had confidence in Hotch to overcome the accusations and in the others to continue regardless of circumstances.

"Spencer... I've always... respected you... my Dr. Reid..."

Reid's eyes flashed with anger. "No! I'm not 'yours'! You're just like my father! When things get tough, you leave... no warning, just disappear!

The patient closed his eyes. It was a part of himself that he wasn't proud of. Maybe it was a result of the nervous breakdown. Whatever the reason, whenever Gideon felt overwhelmed he simply acted to leave it all behind; he felt little need to tell anyone. It had been the same with his son. If Hotch hadn't once persuaded Jason to pick up the phone, he wouldn't have any sort of relationship with his offspring. If only Spencer could understand just how significant a step the letter had been...

"You even decided to settle down close to me and yet never once have you made the effort to get in touch!" Reid was still venting. "No phone call, no apology, no nothing!"

Gideon opened his eyes. He watched Reid's body sag from the exhaustion of his emotional outburst. "I'm sorry... Spencer."

Reid looked at him sadly. "You were more than a mentor, you know. You were the father I felt never had. But then you left too..." he bit his lip.

"Reid... I have always... and will always... care about you... Forgive this old timer..."

"You made your choice, Gideon. I'm not sure that I can..." he ran his hands through his hair.

Spencer looked at the man lying in bed. He saw the bruising, the heart monitor, the IV drip. He read the fatigue and the regret in the dark eyes. He wished that Gideon could have brought himself to seek support from the team when Frank had taken his hope.

Then he thought of Hotch. Hotch, who had also been through hell, had almost lost his life. Like Jason, he could have given up on the BAU, on the team. But thankfully, he had eventually allowed this family to help him and he was back stronger than ever.

Furthermore, the Unit Chief had risen above his hurt with Gideon, refusing to pass judgement. Reid wanted to do the same, he just wasn't sure that he knew how...

"Spencer... I'm only... human... Made... mistakes..."

Reid looked down at his hands. Maybe his ex-mentor wasn't so wise, so perfect after all. And maybe that was okay.

"I um... I'm not making any promises Gideon..."

Jason waited patiently.

"Why don't you call me when you're ready to lose your next chess game..." Reid said, his lips turning into a half-smile.

***

Hotch swallowed the last of his burger and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic seat of the waiting room.

"Thanks Morgan, I needed that."

Derek grinned. "No problem boss."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes then Morgan asked,

"You think they'll work things out?"

Hotch shrugged. "I don't know... I just hope that Reid tells Jason how he feels. He can't continue to bury his feelings."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "This is coming from you, Hotch? You, the master of portraying calm and control at all times?"

"Actually, I don't bury my feelings. I simply choose not to share my emotions all the time. But you can't say you don't know when I'm upset with you?"

Derek laughed. "True. I'm all too aware of your anger. You should patent that glare."

Hotch gave his agent a small smile.

Several more minutes passed.

"Morgan... in Kansas, when you were talking to me..."

Derek shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You heard me..? You remember..?"

Hotch nodded.

Morgan sighed. "Man, I'm sorry about the 'Drill Sergeant' crack... But I meant the rest... every word."

Aaron looked at the young man who had so much potential. They had been through a lot together and Hotch knew that he could always count on Derek. But there had always been the underlying issue of trust. Morgan couldn't seem to lower his barriers enough to put his life in someone else's hands... until now. Hotch thought it was almost worth the coma to hear those words:

'"_And despite what you think, I __**do**__ trust you..."' _

"Incidentally, I've always known that you respect me, Derek." said Hotch softly. "And I hope you know I also care about you..."

Morgan looked away. "Yeah, Hotch, I know..."

There was a moment of awkwardness then Hotch chuckled. Morgan looked questioningly at him.

"But I'm afraid that JJ, Prentiss and Garcia all have you beat on the 'prettiest face' label."

Morgan grinned. "Hey, just as long as I come ahead of Rossi." he shot back, laughing.

***

**BAU, FBI HEADQUARTERS, QUANTICO, VA.**

Morgan deftly pulled the SUV into the FBI parking lot. Reid, who had been quiet on the ride from the hospital, thanked Hotch for letting him come along and made a beeline into the building. Hotch and Morgan exchanged a glance.

"Think he's okay?" asked Derek.

"He will be." replied Hotch thoughtfully. He had seen a different look in Reid's eyes to the one in the waiting room. The pain was still there, but the confusion had been replaced by something else: compassion. Hotch smiled to himself.

Morgan held open the door and the two made their way towards the elevator that would take them up to the BAU.

Hotch pushed the button. "Thanks for driving. Maybe next time you'll actually go to see Gideon..?"

Derek scowled. "What makes you think I want to, Hotch?"

Hotch simply looked at the younger agent and sighed, shaking his head as the elevator doors opened. All thoughts of Jason evaporated however, as Section Chief Strauss stepped onto the tiled floor. She was in deep conversation with another woman and afforded the BAU agents only a curt nod. Hotch's eyes darkened as the elevator began its short journey upwards and the change in his demeanour didn't escape Morgan.

"Don't let her get to you, man." he advised as the bell tinged to indicate their arrival.

The Unit Chief merely grunted before pushing open the door to the BAU.

Emily was the first to notice the agents' appearance. "Uh oh..." she said to JJ, Garcia and Reid under her breath. "Hotch doesn't look happy... Reid, I thought you said everything was fine at the hospital?"

Reid looked up, startled. "It was." he said, genuinely confused.

"Garcia would you step into my office for a moment, please?" asked Hotch as he walked through the bullpen. He wore his usual stern look and didn't wait for a reply before starting up the stairs.

Penelope's eyes grew wide. She looked at JJ and Emily but both women just shrugged.

"What do you think he wants?" she whispered.

"There's only one way to find out." JJ whispered back. "Now go!"

Apprehensively Garcia slowly mounted the stairs and knocked lightly on the half-open door to her supervisor's office.

"Come in Garcia, close the door."

Hotch was sitting behind his desk, already with a pen in his hand signing various pieces of paper. Garcia shut the door and stood, uncertain as to what to do next.

Hotch glanced up. "Sit down, please." He put down his pen and folded his fingers together, regarding her with his dark eyes. He frowned. "I'm really not sure how to say this..."

Garcia put her hands over her mouth.

'_Oh God! He's going to fire me... Strauss found out Kevin and I... Please no!'_

She looked down at her lap. "I'm sorry Sir. I've let you down... I'll go and clear my desk." She rose from the chair.

He watched her quizzically, his brow furrowing even more, if that was possible. "Garcia? Where are you going? Please come back and sit down."

She sat, hands rolled into balls and placed on her lap. She held her breath, waiting, not daring to lift her head.

"Penelope, please look at me."

Garcia raised her eyes to meet his. He rarely called her by her first name and his tone had been soft and gentle. Maybe she would get away with just a reprimand.

"Gar-... Penelope. What I am about to say will be incredibly insufficient in expressing how I feel..."

"Sir, I'm so sorry! Please don't fire me; I'll never let you down again!"

Hotch looked blankly at her. "Garcia, what are you talking about? Why would I fire you?"

"I, uh... I just thought... You looked so mad..."

The Unit Chief sighed then smiled slightly.

"Penelope, I wanted to talk to you about what happened in Kansas."

Garcia was taken aback. "Oh." she said sheepishly.

His expression became serious. "I want you to know how grateful I am to you. You saved my life. Words like 'thank you' aren't enough, but I'm afraid that I don't have anything better."

Aaron's gaze never wavered from her face. Garcia felt herself blush and broke eye contact.

"You don't have to thank me Sir. I didn't do..."

"Yes you did." said Hotch firmly. "You found the infection in my brain. Without you, there would have been more surgery and I'm not sure I would have survived it at that stage... Or how much further brain damage there would have been..."

"Sir, you're so strong, you would..."

But he interrupted. "Garcia. It's not only the infection..." He paused, making sure he had her full attention again. "You held my hand and you talked to me; I heard you... You guided me back to the land of the living. When I was lost, you and the team found me. I'll always be grateful. Thank you."

Garcia felt tears in her eyes. She didn't know what to say. Her boss, her knight in shining armour, was showing her more of himself than ever before. She knew how hard it was for him to express his emotions but she understood completely how much he meant those words, how much the team meant to him.

Penelope stared unseeingly at the bookcase behind Hotch, thinking that if she looked into his eyes she would burst into tears. Suddenly she caught sight of a small hot pink object on a shelf. It was perched next to a photograph of Hotch and Jack.

"Betty!" she exclaimed in joy and surprise.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at her. "Hands off, Garcia." he growled forcefully.

Garcia smiled broadly. "I don't want her back Sir. Someone needs to keep an eye on you."

He smiled briefly.

"Thank you Penelope." he said softly.

"You're welcome my dear Boss-man." She started to turn away.

"Garcia? I **do** have a bone to pick with you, however." The Unit Chief said sternly.

She stopped and looked at his deadpan face, confused. "Sir..?"

"You never told me whether or not Meredith and Jake got together... You stopped reading to me before the end of the book."

She giggled, remembering. "I never took you to be a reader of romance, Sir. Yes, our two love birds lived happily ever after."

"Thank you." Hotch smiled, a full genuine grin that showed off his dimples much to Penelope's delight.

She was opening the door when the agent spoke again.

"And Garcia?"

"Sir?"

"You've never let me down."

Penelope smiled shyly, blushing once again. "Thank you Sir." she mumbled and left the office.

Garcia went back downstairs to where Morgan had joined Reid, JJ and Prentiss in a lively conversation. The sounds of their laughter carried to the offices above the bullpen and soon Hotch and Rossi were both leaning on the railing wondering what was going on.

"Everything okay Aaron?" Dave asked, seeing the pensive expression on his friend's face.

Hotch looked at each member of his team: Morgan, who had finally been able to trust; Reid, who had been able to forgive; Prentiss, who had challenged their ways of thinking; JJ, who was his stability, his little sister; Garcia, who had saved his life; and Dave... Dave who had never let hope die, who had always believed in him despite the odds.

Though the memory of the crash would probably be lost to him forever, one thing was clear. This team... his family... had somehow managed to find him and bring him back; they hadn't stopped looking until they did. Now everything was as it should be and he felt closer to them than ever before.

Hotch turned to Rossi, smiled faintly and nodded. Yes, everything was definitely okay.

The End

"_**I wanted to change the world. But I have **__**found**__** that the only thing one can be sure of changing is oneself.**__**"**_

**Aldous Huxley**

_A/N : __I seriously considered killing off Gideon, but I didn't want to leave the team full of guilt for getting there too late, and I also thought some of the conversations of this last chapter needed to happen. Hope you liked it._

_T__hank you so much for all the reviewers who hung in there over the course of the story! If you like the longer stuff, try out A New Beginning._

_Long live CM!_


End file.
